We're Doomed
by Lies To U
Summary: Assume it's whether we're right or wrong, we're doomed and there's plenty for all. SmokerxHunter M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Now upgraded to high class writing from commoner/amateur works :D Big thanks to Inki Veins for that :heart:**

Sooo...yeah. Hi :D

Came up with this story after drawing quite alot of Smoker and Hunter fanart. (Not all consisting of pairings mind you) I'm pretty sure you'll get the jist of whose gonna become what infected and what-not through this chapter. So I'll just seal my mouth and let you continue reading :I

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><p>Chance walked into the 7-Eleven he always went to, the bell greeting him with the same zeal. He walked down the aisles and grabbed the Daily Herald, flipping through the news. Once again, plastered on the front page, was news about the Green Flu. He almost threw down the paper, but decided to keep it for his roommate. He snatched up a bag of Lays chips and some Little Debbie snacks. He sauntered up and down the aisles before heading for the cash register.<p>

"Hey Nancy, did you get my smo...holy shit."

He froze in his spot. There was a figure crouched over, making constant and sloppy _crunch crunch crunch _sound from in front of itself. Chance leaned to the left an inch and he nearly gagged. Nancy's sightless eyes were staring at him through the blood covering what was left of her face. Her nose was missing and it looked as if something had ripped off her lower jaw to get at her tongue, which was also gone.

The nicotine addict was pulled from his fear when he finally realized that this...man was devouring the store clerk rather messily and hastily, as if he were going to lose his food to another cannibal. He backed up and his leg brushed against a magazine stand. As if God was punishing him for something long ago, maybe when he socked that guy from work in the eye for calling him a fag, the stand crashed to the floor with the loudest clatter.

The man froze and snapped his head around, crazed eyes staring at the stranger who had been watching. He rose, blocking off the teen's next item of choice: cigarettes. Chance took a step back, his shoe covering the front of Vogue magazine. The man screamed and charged, bloodied nails grabbing for something.

Chance just bolted. He ran out of the store door, still clutching his stolen wares. He could still see Nancy's face, pleading for him to help her survive. He wasn't about to help her. She needed to take care of herself. He had to learn quickly that it was all for one and one for all. Sure, he could've played hero...and gotten his own face chewed off.

He went down the street, confident he lost his pursuer. What should he do now? Call the police? Act like he didn't see anything? He was sure someone on the streets saw him and that he had walked past the two video cameras. If anything was like CSI, his DNA would be there, be it skin or hair or God-only-knows what else.

Chance bumped into someone and he muttered an apology, but it was ignored. He looked around and saw a huge crowd yelling at...the cops? After shuffling around to find a spot, he saw what everyone was so interested in. A woman was being stuffed into an ambulance, screaming bloody murder. Her arm seemed to be missing, and a corpse was laying face-first in the police-made circle, an arm in its grasp.

A man next to Chance coughed loudly, not bothering to cover his mouth. Cops nearby screamed for the man to fall to the ground. People nearby flew back and gave the approaching cops room. The teen backed away slightly, but still kept his eyes on the scene. One officer called over an EMT to get another ambulance.

The man rose his head and stared at Chance with blank eyes. He lunged forward and bit the teen in the lower leg. An officer shot the crazed individual when he pulled back. The woman almost looked for the bitten individual, but a crowd had broken through the man-made barrier to attack the ambulance. Chance took the opportunity to back away and he ran home, his entire leg feeling on fire.

He passed other individuals vomiting and falling over, and at one case, a small group of three or four were going after a stray dog. He ran all the way to his apartment, his tar-coated lungs fighting him every step. He ran up the two flights of stairs and down a hall before shoving his key into the doorknob, running in, and slamming the door closed behind him.

"ALAN!"

His Latino friend walked out from the bathroom, a worried look on his face. "What's with the screaming, Chance? You look like you ran-" The younger caught the snacks and paper that were thrown his way and he watched his companion rush to turn the television to the news. Both boys sat on the living room sofa and Chance turned the TV up so they could hear the reporter.

"_Reports have come flooding in stating that people all over the nation have caught a new virus known commonly as the Green Flu. Witnesses have stated that victims become reanimated after death, chasing after humans with cannibalistic needs. The only ways that disease can reportedly be contracted it through contact with an infected individual's bodily fluids. Police and other government officials are attempting to quarantine the area, highly recommending civilians to return to a safe, secured area till further notice."_

"Holy shit," Alan breathed, watching the live views of the streets below.

Chance stood up to go grab a Coke from the fridge. "My words exactly. We better barricade the house and stay put until this thing blows over."

"And how long will that take? A few months? We need food, water, stuff like that."

"I didn't mean forever, Alan. It'll pass in a week, then, if you want, we'll go to the government officials and they'll take us someplace...safer, I guess. This isn't like one of your video games." Chance opened his stash of emergency smokes and pulled out a box, taking one of the nicotine sticks and lighting it. The way his lungs relaxed instantly was wonderful.

Alan eventually fell silent and both boys went about the rest of the day. That is, until a loud pounding at the door jarred Chance from his peaceful sleep. He shot up. Did Alan forget his keys or something?

"Alan?" he called.

"Chance! HELP!"

Chance jumped up and ran for the bedroom to find his roommate being pulled out of the window. The smoker went over and slammed the window sill down. He took out a pocket knife and sliced the thing, causing whatever it was, to release. Both of them rolled onto the floor and looked at whatever had a hold on the younger teen. It was a slimy, gray-pink rope that had bumps lining the entirely of its surface. When they tried to pull it off, it slipped from their hands.

"What the hell is this?" Alan complained, watching black blood seep from the cut appendage. "I open a window to get fresh air and this..._thing_ grabs me."

The front door gave a loud crash and an even louder collective scream broke forth. Chance ran to the bedroom door and slammed it closed, pushing the dresser against the wooden entrance to buy them time. Chance went to the closet and tossed Alan a backpack and a box. He pulled out a large metal pipe. The dresser rocked with the force of the intruders. Alan opened the box in his hands.

"A gun? I don't know how to work one of these in real life!"

Chance snatched the weapon, checked the clip, and readied it to be fired. "Just point and shoot. The first few times are always the hardest. You'll get used to it."

"Why can I carry the pipe?" Alan whined.

"Because I'm the one who's played baseball, done fencing, and lived on the streets for years." The older teen went to the window to make sure the coast was clear before climbing out onto the fire escape. "Come on. Hurry up!"

Alan scurried out and they looked down. The streets were overrun with the cannibalistic creatures, so they went up the metal stairs as quickly as they could. On the fifth floor, the ladder was stuck. The infected humans had finally decided to follow the two teens up the stairs. Alan popped off a shot shakily and caused a cascade of angry bodies. They jumped up to the next landing, Chance first. He reached for his friend to lift him up when the younger tripped and fell over, giving the swarming cannibals an advantage.

He screamed as he was bitten into. "Son of a bitch! Get off, mother fucker!" He fired at the swarm. One snatched the gun from his hands. More infected people crawled out of open windows to follow the commotion and fresh food.

Chance called down, "I'm coming back down," when his friend shouted out "NO! Get the hell out of here!"

Chance watched as the fire escape gave out below him and his friend and hundreds of cannibalistic men and women tumbled to the ground in a collective scream. The smoker took a deep breath and scaled the remaining steps, heading for the roof.

_Stupid stupid stupid STUPID _repeated in his head, even as stranglers took off after him. He just let his best friend die. He should've stayed, but his _one for all_ sense kicked in. His leg was still burning at him. It was itching like hell. He swung at the stranglers and climbed onto the roof as the final weight of the remaining part of the fire escape gave way and tumbled to the ground, burying all the others below in a heap of bodies, blood, and metal. He couldn't differentiate his friend from the others.

Chance went to a broken air conditioner, pulled out a smoke, and stared at the sky. For some strange reason, he laughed softly to himself. In the back of his mind, something struck him as funny, and it pulled him from his stupor.

"At least I didn't die a virgin..." he muttered, taking another tobacco drag.


	2. Chapter 2

**Huzzah! Chapter two is now beta-ed and in a new range of awesome! Our hats off to Inki Veins for putting such valiant effort :D**

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><p>Chance stared at the clouds overhead. He was tired, but he was always tired. At least his leg didn't burn anymore. He scratched at his neck. Damn...why him? Why did it have to happen to him?<p>

He rolled over and looked at himself in a puddle that he was too lazy to move away from. He was one of them. One of those damn monsters that stole...he shuddered at the memory of what was surely weeks ago.

He had tumors on his face that itched like hell, and his tongue (he realized) could stretch many feet. He could recall that day: he sneezed and it shot out, and he bit into it, which hurt like hell. He rolled it up manually, and after a few times, figured out how to suck it back in. His throat was always dry, and yet his tongue, always wet. He had this constant smog-like stuff emitting from his body, and it actually calmed him down. Was it smoke? Must've been. His vision was shot terribly, but he didn't mind it too much. Wasn't even noticeable at first, with a dark spot covering half of one side.

On the inside, he felt...weaker. Angrier. Hungier by mounds. He could eat a hundred half-pounders from Burger King and McDonalds each. He was shocked that he didn't have much of a thirst in the heat sun, but his hunger was gnawing at him constantly. Every time something scurried by, whether it be one of those freaks that tried to eat him, or a human-like creature, the same mantra played in his mind: _Hunt...Eat...Kill...Hunt...Eat...Kill._

He didn't like the prospect of hunting, as he thought of the old television shows that showed these crazy ass country folk covered in leaves and deer crap, laying in the dirt with their eye practically glued to the scope of a gun. Not his idea of a fun time.

And then killing.

He wasn't going to kill. He's never killed in his life. Maybe he's come pretty close, putting shitheads who deserved to die in the hospital within an inch of their lives. But never killed before, and he wasn't going to start now.

A sudden thought crossed the Smoker's mind: did fighting off those...whatever they were count as killing? Didn't seem like it. It was self-defense. It wasn't like _he_ went after them. They were trying to eat him and Al-He stopped the vicious memory before it could start and tried to focus on something else. Like the twisting hunger in the pit of his stomach.

He glanced down and could see a human running towards his current position: a woman being chased by Commons. Somehow, she kept an even number of paces in front of her pursuers. _Hunt...Eat...Kill..._ Chance cringed at the thought. He actually had to _eat_ her? That was not on his list of "Things to Do Before I Die." But the chant grew so loud that he growled until he shot down his tongue amateurishly, barely catching the woman around her ankle. He tightened his grip as best he could and began to reel her up as fast as he could.

She screamed at him, trying to curl up so she could scratch at the offending appendage. He didn't stop, the mantra flooding his senses. He finally pulled her up and was ready to reposition his grip when-she slipped free, free falling down a good thirteen stories to crash head-first onto the concrete below. Chance watched the Commons swarm his meal and he sighed. So much for eating.

_Neck._

He snapped back, unsure where that voice had come from for a second, but it didn't sound like it was really near him. He looked back down, staring at the buffet.

_Neck...Grab...Neck...Grab..._

He understood the bit of feral advice his brain was giving him, and that sent a shiver up his spine. He had to grab his meal by the neck, to ensure a neat kill. He waited for his next meal, still debating the idea of eating what he once was. He took in deep breath and coughed a good five times before he was able to relax. A thick cloud of green smoke swirled around him and he used his hand to fan some of it away. His body was dying for a cigarette.

He reached in his pocket and drew forth a pack of cigarettes, knocking one white stick from the container and placing it between his lips. He withdrew his lighter with the other hand and light the stick, taking in a long, deep drag to fill his lungs. He exhaled through his nose and the gray smoke tried to overpower the constant green smog. But even the sedation of his lungs and nerves didn't quell his hunger.

"Dammit, Chance, you need to eat," the Smoker said aloud, peering over the edge of the building to find a replacement for the fair meal he had caught and lost.

_You need to survive. But why?_

A new noise, while it didn't answer his question, caught his attention and he looked at a figure running on two legs towards the alley. He? She? He didn't know and he sure as hell didn't care. Food was food.

_Hunt..._

He removed his nicotine roll and shot out his tongue, succeeding in catching his new meal not around the neck, but rather the waist. Talon-like nails pierced the flesh of his tongue weakly, his slick appendage inhibiting the movement of his prey.

_Eat..._

He was salivating at the idea of putting something _kicking_ in his stomach. He reeled up his tongue like a fishing rod, not to fast to stress the "line", but fast enough to keep his catch "hooked". His meal was thrashing madly, scratching harder. Chance took a few steps away from the edge and his meal flopped over the side, face up.

_Kill!_

The Smoker dropped to his knees right on top of his prey, pressing his fingers down against the ribcage of his meal. He tore apart a section of a jacket and was ready to pierce into the thrashing flesh, not quite prepared to snap its neck.

"Whoa! Whoa! Dude! Easy on the stomach! OW! Leggo of me!"

He sneered at the speech, surprised he could understand the tongue of this non-human creature. He paused for a second, a light clicking in his brain.

_Let go._

He loosened his tongue's grip around the middle of this creature as he stood, watching the would-be meal crawl onto all fours, tugging sadly at its hood. Why didn't it run or scream or try to kill him? Why did it sit there with a pitiful look on its face, staring at the hole he had created on its chest? What _was_ this thing before him?

The creature turned to him, giving the Smoker a small smile, teeth sharp and crooked. "Thanks for not eating me. I thought I was gonna be a goner." It dropped to its haunches, pulling off a shoe and working pointed fingers around the pad of its foot. Chance studies the teenage boy before him: hooded jacket, sharp claw-like appendages, wrists and ankles and even his torso wrapped in what must've been roll after roll of duct tape. "Oh. Name's Alex. What's yours?"

"...Chance."

Alex put his shoe back on, tying the bow into a tight knot before bounding to his feet. His hood created a dark shadow on his face and hid his eyes.

"So," the smaller body began, "What's going on with you?"

"What do you mean by that?" Chance tried not to snap, the phrase usually answered with a swift punch to the jaw.

"With the flu thing. You sure don't look human, but you're talking to me, so...what are you?" The Smoker shook his head. Alex shrugged. "Well, whatever you are, don't come to close to me. I don't want to get whatever you have and become one of those...things. Not to be offensive, or anything."

The older teen reeled back. What the hell? Didn't Alex know that he wasn't human either? Sure, he definitely _looked_ more like a human than Chance did, but that didn't mean he had any right to denounce the Smoker.

"Hey, kid-"

"Alex."

"Whatever. You aren't human either."

Alex blinked at the taller in disbelief before a snigger crawled from his lips. "What are you talking about? Of _course_ I'm human. You don't see me tearing apart humans for food, nor did I lose my ability to talk like a human. Do you hear me screaming and hissing like those freaks down there?" He jabbed a pointed finger over the side of the building.

Chance sighed. If this guy just wanted to deny what he was, whatever. He really didn't have any proof to point out anything out of the norm on Alex (sans the teeth and fingers), so he wasn't even going to waste his breath. Not like he was planning on sticking with this kid anyway.

The Smoker dug into his pocket to pluck out a fresh cigarette, his latest one floating in a puddle of something nearby. Alex stared at this new companion in strange interest; for someone as messed up looking as that, Chance acted like every other human being. Though his eyesight wasn't the best in this bright light, he could still make out the pulsating tumors on the Smoker's arms and face, plus smoking like a chimney wasn't considered normal last time Alex checked.

"Sooo...how'd you get like that?" Alex questioned, walking a bit closer to this older kid. Was he a friend? Could he call the other a friend?

"None of your business," Chance exhaled, a thick smog of nicotine swirling form his lips.

The smaller nodded, biting the inside of his cheek in thought. "Do you know anyone else who hasn't gone all nom noming around her-"

Chance finally snapped. "Look, did I miss the memo? Did we automatically become friends? Stop being such a nosy bitch and beat it. Don't want me getting you sick, do you?"

The hoodie faltered some, but remained close. "You didn't eat me, so I thought-"

"Yeah, and what a big fucking mistake that was. If I had known you'd be such a babbling fucktard, I would've torn out your lungs first."

Alex scoffed, causing the Smoker to look at him in a threatening way. "Geezus, you always act this much of an ass to people? You even got any friends? Guess it don't matter since you probably left them to die."

The hoodie's lung rushed out air as fast as they could as he back crashed against something hard. Something was squeezing at his windpipe, tight as a vice. He coughed and tried to pry loose Chance's bony fingers, which tightened the more Alex struggled. He kicked as hard as he could, which wasn't very hard given the situation. The Smoker came nose-to-nose with his annoying roof mate and he purposefully allowed the smoke around him to fog the hoodie's body.

"You got no fucking idea how much I wanna fucking kill you right now. But, I'm sure that would end your misery too soon. Why not have a little fun watching you squirm?"

"Wha-" Alex coughed, simply sucking in more of the toxic air.

Chance released his grip around the younger's neck and took three steps back. "Go, look for a safe place. Hunt down the military and see what they'll do to you. If you're so fucking sure that you're human, walk into an evac center. I'll bet my life you won't make it out alive. You'll look like a slice of fucking Swiss by the time they're done with you." He stared at the hoodie, his anger falling some, but his serious tone still strong. "Pick your poison: gunshots or suicide. Maybe if you run off the edge, you'll land head-first and the impact will break all the bones in your body." He went back to smoking his new cigarette, the nicotine calming his fraying nerves.

Alex soaked in every word the Smoker had said. He glanced at his fingers, at the claws, and wondered just how long he would last in this place. He had no guns or other weapons (other than these things on his hands) to fend off the other monsters with. He was fast, but it took so much out of him and he was hungry. When was the last time he ate? Who knew? He walked over to where Chance had taken a seat, swinging his legs over the edge of the building, using his...claws as leverage.

The older gave him a confused look and he replied, "I'm staying."

Chance sighed, extinguishing his smoke that was already down to an unusable stub. "What did you just say?"

"I'm staying. I have no where else to go."

"Well you can't stay here. I'm not taking care of you, or saving you if you get in trouble."

Alex shrugged, "You won't have to. I can take care of myself...sort of."

"Fine. Whatever. You won't last long."

The hoodie smiled up at the sky. "We'll see."


	3. Chapter 3

"Where did you put them?" Chance growled at Alex.

"I told you I lost them. Now tell me."

"Not until I get my cigarettes back."

Alex groaned, pulling his hood down farther over his sensitive eyes. "How many times to I have to tell you? While you were chasing me, they fell from my pocket. I don't know where they are anymore. Now, tell me. Please?"

Chance cursed inwardly. How did he get stuck with Alex as his traveling companion? Some sick cosmic joke, that's how. "I don't know. I just kinda stick out my tongue and it stretches. Heck if I know how long the thing is. And don't even bother asking how it can grow back when it's ripped off. It's painful enough without knowing all the details."

Alex smiled with interest and watched the Smoker struggle against the tree his tongue was wrapped and knotted around. Chance gave the other a sharp glare. "Are you going to help me? Especially since you got me in this mess."

Alex snickered, intertwining his fingers together and cracking them loudly. The hoodie bent low, posture prepared as he leapt a great length up to the high tree branch. Chance narrowed his eye as he took his time unraveling the mess the tongue had on the branch. Sure it could've been snapped it off, a new one would've regenerated in minutes, but the fact that it still had a grip on a freshly lit cigarette (and his _last_ one, no thanks to Alex) gave him no intention of it going to waste.

It wasn't until Alex completely untied the tongue from the tree branch that he make a point to his narcotic companion, "You know, I could've just grabbed your drug stick and tossed it down to ya. Bite off the tongue, and everyone's free and happy." Chance ignored every word Alex spoke as he turned his way to walk from the chatter box. Alex jumped down, trailing after his 'anti-friend', knowing to keep his distance.

It's been close to four days since the boys' encounter. Chance wished Alex would grow a pair and set off to wherever on his own, but the Hunter was staying. 'Hunter' was everything Alex was not, but that was what Chance heard the snarling hooded creatures call themselves. To him, they were all stuck-up alphas to keep a distance from. And yet, he got stuck with the most useless Hunter of the lot. Well, part-Hunter.

"Still think you're all clean and 'Immune', kid?" Chance asked in a bored tone, looking for a convenient store of sorts that possibly held more cigarettes. Alex saw that the coast was clear and sped up his walking till he was right next to Chance. His sharpened teeth bit his bottom lip absentmindedly, bits of blood trailing down his chin soon after.

"Well, I still have no one shooting me. And, um, I'm not eating anyone." Alex tried to look at the positive side, even though he knew it was pointless. He himself started to feel different: his muscles could endure more running and jumping, his nails had grown a bit sharper than last he recalled, and his skin had lost its peachy color, turning into a pale grayish-blue. Whether this change was because of Chance's company or something happening to him in the past, he didn't know.

Chance glanced at Alex, seeing the hoodie shrug with a grin. "You're really weird," the Smoker replied, savoring the last of his cigarette. Alex didn't give a complaint to the remark; he was used to be calling weird. It didn't bother him because he'd rather be weird than normal. Normal was boring.

"Um, Chance, if you've seen others that 'look' like me, have you ever found others that look like you?" Alex questioned, attempting to strike up a conversation. Chance sighed in a way Alex couldn't translate as a 'The Fuck you asking?' or 'Not now'.

"Can't say I have. I hope there are other ugly assholes out there though. I might've seen one in a past life or something." Alex couldn't think of any other topics he could bring to chat with Chance. It's guys like him that make it hard to talk.

"Bingo."

The Hunter looked up at Chance confused, seeing the Smoker head to a gas station. The windows were smashed, and the door that was meant to be an entrance hung loosely by one of its bolts. "This place sure has seen better days…" Alex mumbled, taking a look inside to see everything the opposite of neat and tidy. Chance said nothing as he instantly went to the register counter, hands searching for a good brand of cigarettes in the back shelves.

Alex walked through the mini aisles, seeing everything scavenged except for the majority of dog food. "Find it funny that some gas stops attempt to be Wal-Mart, y'know?" he commented while tossing a can of doggy food between his hands. He looked to Chance, seeing the other focused on whatever nicotine he'd be lucky to find here. Alex's face dropped, sticking out his tongue to give a quick raspberry to Chance. Not like the Smoker would take it as offense anyway.

A noise caught the attention of the two, more of Alex than Chance. The Hunter turned his attention outside the gas station, watching as something blinked red before bouncing to a stop on the cracked road.

"Chance? What's…?"

Alex almost jumped back when seeing a dozen or so Infected appear from their hiding places inside buildings and stores. They surrounded the beeping device like it was a delicious slab of meat, almost fighting against one another to get closer to the blinking light. The beeping became faster, and before Alex could question its appearance again, the thing exploded. Body parts flew everywhere leaving blood patterns and bits of flesh paved on the abandoned street.

"Whoa," Alex heard Chance comment next to him, the Hunter looked up to the taller to see him find his prized possession, a newly lit cigarette in between his lips. "That-" Alex jumped back when his ears heard a gunshot pierce the silence, causing him to knock over the empty shelves behind him. Chance didn't have the time to look at the Hunter with a mocking smile before he ducked down and saw what the other Infected feared yet loved.

Survivors, three of them, rounded the corner on the street the gas station sat on. All of them were men, one having darker skin than the other two. "That looks to have killed the lot. Let's move," the elder one of the trio spoke, holding his assault rifle casually to his chest. Alex managed to regain his posture, crouched next to Chance as he also stared intensely at the non-cannibal people. "Who are they?" Alex asked, receiving silence as an answer.

He found out why when seeing Chance no longer at his side, the Hunter caught him heading to the back exit of the store. He instinctively followed. "What are you doing?" Alex questioned softly, answered by a sharp 'shhh' as the Smoker found a dumpster against the back wall. He climbed on top of it to reach the rooftop. As Alex reached the top with a simple jump, he found his friend staring intensely at the every move the survivors took.

"Ch-"

"I swear to God, you ask another damn question, I'm going to rip your tongue out," Chance hissed, glaring at the Hunter who clamped both hands over his mouth.

Chance turned his attention back to the survivors, who were heading towards an intersection, their backs were to the two infected. "I'm going to try and snag one of them, and you'll pounce whichever one attempts to fire or save the guy I have, got it?" Alex's eyes grew wide at his friend's orders. "What? But they're just survivors! They haven't even shot us or anything! Why should we attack them if they didn't do-"

Not listening to Alex's protests, Chance aimed and shot his extended appendage to grab a hold of the survivor closest to the Infected. The Survivor reacted like any other trapped individual would; he screamed and swore, attempting to free himself from the slippery tongue that quickly dragged him to the gas station.

"Loik!" the dirty blonde of the group shouted, sprinting to his comrade as the oldest survivor open-fired at Chance. "ALEX! GO!" Chance hollered, shoving his comapanion forward. Alex hardly understood the Smoker's words (you try shouting a command with a 50 ft stretched tongue hanging out of your mouth) but got the message to pounce forward. He soared for a few seconds in the sky, missing the dirty blonde by a hair over his head. The guy looked behind him in surprise, catching Alex's screech and pulling out his handgun.

Alex flinched back. He hated guns, before and after the Infection. Seeing a gun pointed at you just ready to pop a cap in your ass never was a pleasant sight.

Alex dodged the blasts by pouncing to the side and off a building. He managed to land on the blonde the second time, their bodies crashing to the ground as the gun skidded away from its owner's grasp. The Hunter could hear the survivor under Chance's hold screaming for help, dangling off the side of the gas station where the Smoker was having trouble pulling his body up onto the roof.

Alex remembered where his attention should've been when a hard punch caught itself across his jawbone. He growled instinctively, grabbing the survivor's neck in a harsh hold and raising his claws for a deadly kill. Something pulled him back though, the survivor under him didn't show any traces of fear. It just looked extremely pissed off as it continued to struggle out of Alex's hold, hands gripping the forearm of the Hunter tightly to be free.

It was like every bad movie or book that was about the main character changing into something he/she was not.

He couldn't kill him. After all, Alex used to be just like this survivor.

His train of thought was cut when a bullet pierced his bicep and one grazed his ear as he recoiled. The blonde survivor took advantage of the distracted Hunter, pushing him off to retrieve his fallen gun. Alex snapped back to reality when he heard more gunfire, most directed at him.

He dodged most of the shots, receiving another bullet wound he could've done without. The eldest of the group freed the screaming black man in Chance's hold, the Smoker cussing in response before ducking low to not be head shot.

"That's right mother fucker! You better hide!" hollered the black man, throwing his arms in the air and shooting the rooftop of the gas station. The old man slapped the shotgun barrel to the floor, ceasing the dark man's fire. "Stop wasting bullets! Richard, let's go!" The old man ordered. The blonde looked over his shoulder before snapping his glare back at Alex. The Hunter missed the ledge of a window sill to climb in safely, so the inexperienced thing slid down the building wall to land painfully back on all fours.

Alex watched the dirty blonde rise from his crouching position to stand and back up, but he didn't shoot. The Hunter remained still, ready to dodge another bullet if necessary. Instead, the man retreated to his already fleeing friends.

A moment passed, allowing Alex to release a long, agonizing howl he had been holding in. He gnashed his crooked teeth, clenching his arm that ached the most. He was sure he got another lead ball stuck somewhere in his thigh but refrained himself from thinking of it. He caught a glimpse of Chance jumping down from the gas station. The Smoker looked as if he was going to walk in the direction Alex was in, but instead started to head along the route that led back to the apartment building.

Alex panted loudly, looking in disbelief at where Chance was heading.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" he shouted, biting his tongue to hold in a groan when he moved his thigh in an uncomfortable way.

Chance turned to the injured Hunter, a cold stare locking onto Alex's eyes.

"I made it clear the moment you decided to stick with me, didn't I? I'm not going to babysit your sorry hide. And you made it clear that you can fend for yourself. My ass."

The Smoker turned back to his course, walking out of Alex's sight. Alex screwed his eyes shut, fighting back the verge of painful tears. He was angry and hurt, both physically and mentally. He tried to move his arm once more to gauge the pain and when it shot though his body, he realized that there would be no moving to anywhere until the bullets were gone. He bit his lip as he raised a hesitant hand to the bullet wound in his arm. He screeched bloody hell as he dug two digits into the wound, expanding and tearing the already injured muscle. The Hunter bit his lip hard enough to make thick trails of blood dribble down his chin. He wheezed sharply when he felt the lead ball come in contact with his fingertips, and wasted no time flinging it out.

"Ow ow ow…" he moaned, holding the stretched wound with care.

He groaned as he was hit with a painful realization. He still had his thigh to do.

* * *

><p><strong>Apologizes for the late update, sorry no sex yet. :D Not for a long while anyway...<strong>

**I want to give a huuuuge thanks to Inki Veins for being so kind enough to be my beta for this story. Thank you so very very much for taking the time and improving my writing works! **

**Go check out her stories! -hint-hint-nudge-nudge-**

**Reviews are loved. :heart:**


	4. Chapter 4

**And the 4th is up and running :) Big hugs and thankies to my beta Inki Veins once again! -gives her cookies-**

**Also, since Doc Manager is supposedly against weird page breaks, these: **/)/)/)/) **will just signify a page break.**

**I don't think I made it clear in the first chapter so I'll notify those here.**

_**:L4D and all its glory rightly belongs to the creators in Valve:**_

* * *

><p><em>Thunder clapped in the sky, forcing more water to fall from the grim-colored clouds overhead. Two individuals stood face-to-face, one soaking in the storm and the other in a dry apartment.<em>

"_So, you got kicked out just 'cuz you opened your big mouth and stuffed a cigarette in someone's eye," Alan spoke, unamused as he leaned against the door frame of his open door._

_The last thing Chance wanted right now was to stand a couple feet from a dry place just to listen to his friend mock and laugh at him. He bit his lip, pulling a tiny piece of skin off of it. "Alan, are you going to let me in or just let me swim in this? The water's rising and I know you don't want me getting _you_ sick." _

_Alan smirked, stepping to the side to let his friend in._

_Chance discarded his soppy converses and socks at the door, the rest of him dripping on the cheap carpet that covered Alan's apartment floor. He pondered removing his jeans as well, but settled on his sweater instead. The hand-made garment fell to the floor with a _plop_._

_"Take a seat, let me get you a towel," Alan instructed, heading to the bathroom as Chance sat on the living room couch. He coughed into his hand. He felt sick, and he needed a smoke. A white towel was tossed on his head as Alan came back with a soda can in hand, "Seriously Chance, you keep that pissy personality around your co-workers and you'll never keep a standard job."_

_Chance wiped his face and neck quickly, dragging off his t-shirt before shaking the remaining droplets out of his hair. "The way you say it, sounds like I should give a fuck about those assholes." Another cough escaped his lips. _

_Alan rolled his eyes, taking a seat on the armchair next to the water-stained couch. "You should, Chance. Don't let the worst shit of life get to you. You're lucky I'm a nice enough guy to let you stay here till your mom sorts her crazy head out." Alan added a cocky grin to the end of his sentence, trying to get that apathetic expression off of Chance's face._

_The smoker stared at the coffee table with great interest before getting up, "Yeah, sorts things out. Like that'll ever happen." _

/)/)/)/)

"Yo, Smoky Dude. Heeey! I'm talking to you!" Chance shot his gaze from the cloudy sky to the frowning Hunter, who was sitting in front of him like a dog.

"What?" Chance sighed bluntly. He wasn't in the mood for Alex's rants. The gurgling sound coming from the hoodie's stomach answered Chance's question.

Making sure Chance got the message, Alex whined, "I'm starving. Can we go hunt?"

Chance's face dropped any emotion it was showing before as he got up, wiping anything that had clung to his jeans off. "Last I recall _we_ had the golden opportunity to grab some meat a couple days ago. Now you really expect _me_ to go hunting with you? After _you_ epically failed at killing even _one_ of those survivors before?"

Alex bit the inside of his cheek, quickly detaching the sharp fangs from the soft, slimy spot. He was still getting used to his new fangs. "Well...when you put it that way…" Alex mumbled to himself. He didn't even bother to grab a hold of Chance this time; he knew that begging the taller to accompany him in his hunt would be pointless. "But I promise I won't hold back or anything this time! I'm so hungry I could eat a _zoo_!" Alex threw his hands in the air to emphasis his point. His stomach roared louder this time, forcing the Hunter to push at his stomach in pain. Damn this apocalypse and its lack of a decent hot meal.

The Smoker opened the rooftop doorway, which gave a low groan as the old bolts turned. "Go get it yourself. I've got better things to do." The door slammed closed, leaving the Hunter alone on the rooftop. Alex sighed, crossing his arms on the edge of the rooftop, lost in thought.

Why was he still here? Why was he hanging around this asshole of a Smoker?

A pillbug caught the eye of the bored Hunter as it crawled over his sleeves. He flicked at it with his finger and it rolled into its uniform ball to the cement ledge. Alex crouched down and watched as the insect opened from its protective state, wriggled on its back, and eventually found itself on its feet again. Alex made two of his fingers rest on the ledge and let them walk right behind the puny bug, stabbing it in the back when he grew bored again.

Maybe it was because he didn't stand a chance going on in the city by himself?

Yeah probably, no pun intended.

And it was nice having someone to talk to; even if he _was_ an asshole, Chance was a rare case of Infected that didn't ramble about hunting, killing, and eating in three-word sentences. Then again, Chance was the only Infected Alex really got to know well. He's seen some other dazed hungry people roam the streets below, and despite the fact he was very social in his early life, Alex refrained himself from actually going up to one of them and saying a simple 'hi'. It's a cannibalistic zombified apocalypse for Christ's sake, _anything_ will kill and/or eat you around here.

He set the side of his face to rest on the cool cement of the ledge. He could go prove Chance wrong, grab some breathing meat-and-bone sac and drag it back here in triumph. But there's the possibility of being shot, scratched, eaten, captured, raped, and a whole mess of other ways. He forced his mind to stop the onslaught of death-related ideas. No way he'd make it on his own. No way, no how.

He wasn't about to risk his life just to prove the Smoker wrong. Alex's growling stomach protested this thought, making the Hunter head-desk the ledge, howling in regretful pain soon after. "Mother f-SHIIIIT—!" Alex slipped off the ledge and plummeted to the depths of the city below.

"Oh son of a _shit tard_, this huuuurts…" Alex groaned as he tried to force himself to at least crawl onto all fours, but he ended up falling back on his side again. The Hunter grind his teeth together to force his mind elsewhere. He definitely had some broken bones after that fall. Catlike and graceful his ass. _Who_ **_said_** all Hunters could be fricken acrobats?

Alex exhaled deeply, gathering enough strength to sit up. He swallowed any groans of agony while he looked at his broken arm, trying to move it with a painful letdown. After the survivor incident, Alex found his injuries healing much quicker than they would in his previous life. But he hasn't done anything stupidly extreme as this. Would his arm heal fast and normal as before? He prayed so.

Groans and grunts came from before him, making his head snap up in alert. He saw a dazed cannibal walking absentmindedly across the street, but it wasn't alone on the road. A tall girl was stumbling around, weeping in her hand. Her body looked to be a complete tone of light gray that appeared almost alabaster in the fading sun. Her shoulder bumped lightly into the dazed cannibal and she froze. The cannibalistic creature stumbled back and bared its teeth, the _hunger_ setting kicking in. She stared down the creature and stabbed at it with her hands. Alex looked closer and saw that her nails were long, dangerously long. The other creature was speared on her nails before it slid to the ground. The girl stared at the corpse and resumed her weeping, trying to move along the path of least resistance.

Sadly, she was moving straight towards the injured Hunter.

Alex tried to scoot out of the girl's way but ended up twisting his broken limb the wrong way. He screeched as the girl walked right in front of him, the sound surprised her as she tripped over Alex's extended legs. Alex froze up, relaxing some as the girl raised herself back onto her feet. Her tears has stopped. "I'm very sorry, miss! I kind of fell from that building right there, and I—um—broke a few bones and-"

Alex clamped him mouth shut as the girl started to breathe unevenly. She turned to him, giving Alex the chance to see her glowing red eyes, and started to growl menacingly. Her nails clicked together at her side, the blood still smeared on them from the killing she had done seconds before. Alex got the feeling he should run. FAST.

He scrambled up, just before the girl plunged her talons into dead grass. She shrieked like a banshee as she chased the Hunter, closing the gap in between them fast. Alex forced his not-as-hurt legs to run faster, thinking to himself _if only I could get back up to the apartment building_. He made a foolish decision of trying to wall pounce his way to the closest rooftop but ended up crashing back on the ground. He definitely needed both arms to do it properly.

"GEEZUS CHRIST ARE YOU ON YOUR PERIOD?" he shouted over his shoulder, continuously running for his life as the screaming girl sprinted after him.

/)/)/)/)

Chance didn't know what he would find in his old apartment building. Alan sitting in his room practicing the guitar as he mocked the Smoker's insecurity and nagged about what's going to be for dinner?

Yeah, that'd be a sight to see. Too bad no one's invented time travel yet.

Chance found himself standing in his deceased friend's room, giving in to the pointless urge to set the fallen desk back on its legs. The same one used to hold back the cannibals, which bought the boys some time to flee to safety.

He found the acoustic guitar Alan claimed as his own, still sitting in the corner of his room. He picked it up by the neck as he sat on the unmade bed that squeaked under his weight. Setting the guitar the proper way on his legs, Chance plucked a few strings in a cared motion. He's had some practice and played decent enough; he remembered the days when they both dueled against one another to see who the better guitarist was. Alan mostly won, but Chance caught some victories by sheer luck.

_I'm sorry, man._ Chance thought half to himself and half to wherever Alan may be now.

A high pitched scream caused a cold shiver to run up Chance's spine. He made his way to the still-opened window to find what had caused the noise. A pale girl was chasing someone with hands ready to kill. By the appearance and clothing, Chance could tell that soon-to-be-slaughtered guy was Alex. Why was he not surprised? Chance inwardly groaned, throwing the guitar back on the bed and quickly made his way out of the apartment.

/)/)/)/)

"You like cherries don't you? I'll load a bunch on that sundae I offered! Sweet glory orgasm in your mouth! I swear! Just stop chasing me DAMMIT!" Alex screeched, looking over his shoulder to see the screaming female still chasing him and still pissed beyond belief. He had no idea where he was going; all that mattered as to find a way to get this PMSing bitch off his tail.

He scalded a building wall, holding in all pain as he put his semi-healed arm to work. He wasn't surprised but still screamed like a little girl when he saw the thin girl scaling up right behind him and closing in. _Fast_.

He didn't do the stupid thing and stand there to see if she would fall like he was the main character in some cheesy horror flick. He booked it, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. She continued after him, that is, until Alex came across a large gap where he almost missed the opposite ledge of the building. She tried to jump after him but was nowhere close to catching him. She plummeted and landed on an old pile of trash bags with a shriek, in pain and upset. Alex pulled himself up and continued to flee, not taking the risk of hanging around to watch her climb up the building again.

He slowed himself after about twelve more rooftops to catch a breather, his ears not hearing the wails of the angry sharp-nailed girl behind him or anywhere nearby. "God, I'm drained," Alex sighed, walking his way to the edge of the rooftop. He scanned the city before him, seeing it hold its last shred of beauty through this chaotic mess. The evening sun added a nice touch to it. Alex should have probably headed back, avoiding any trouble that would come his way if he were to make his way back at dark, but the Hunter decided to explore a bit more. Plus, it wasn't like Chance was going to miss him or anything.

Jumping over rooftops with ease now that there wasn't a psychopath on his tail, Alex was able to pinpoint some landmarks to remember, just in case he ever wanted to travel this far in the city. Soon enough, the Hunter found something that raised a genuine smile on his chapped lips.

/)/)/)/)

Chance had heard Alex scream more than just once, and he was surprised the idiot hadn't gotten killed yet. The Smoker didn't have good navigational skills; for all he knew he was running in circles, poorly following any lead that would have him finding Alex or that pale girl. After a short stop, Chance looked ahead of himself seeing the deserted streets.

Why was he even bothering to look for the idiot? The answer didn't come to him quickly, but something crashing down on his body did.

All of the Smoker's breath left him in a whoosh. He was surprised that his head didn't crack in two when he had fallen onto the road. He groaned pitifully, using all his willpower to not black out and raise his upper body up.

"Chance! Oh my Jesus, you have no idea what I've found today! First it was this crazy chick that was definitely going through her menstrual cycle. And then I found-"

The Hunter was cut from his words when the Smoker groaned again, pushing him off his flat stomach. "Good lord, a simple 'hey I'm over here' would've been just fine, dumbass." Chance coughed, feeling something rise in his chest.

Alex just rolled his eyes and quickly helped the Smoker to his feet, the taller still regaining his senses when brought back to his feet in a wobbling matter. "You can call me shit and what-not later, I've _got_ to show you what I found!" Alex proclaimed with a wide grin. Before Chance could refuse or question Alex, the Hunter dragged his friend to his new discovery.

"And voila! Welcome to a limb-breaking entertainment utopia! Complete with lack of decaying corpses!" Chance blinked at what Alex has brought him to. It was a skate park, having the common characteristics a skater would dub painfully entertaining. Cemented craters some feet in the ground for skateboarding pros to slink and do stunts as they pleased, curved platforms that rose high in the air in a perfect U shape, long aisles of railing for those who enjoy grinding their board against the metal till they fell off. Everything still intact and perfectly set for the skateboard junkie, something Chance was not.

"Am I supposed to be happy? Surprised even?" he questioned plainly, receiving an unseen bug-eyed look from Alex.

"Aw c'mon, Chance! Don't tell me this doesn't spark _some_ interest in you-"

"It doesn't."

"God, you're so boring!" the Hunter shrieked, grasping his head with both hands.

Chance rolled his eyes, looking up at the evening sky to estimate how late it was. "I'm the type of guy that prefers to be indoors, if you haven't noticed." To emphasis his point, Chance pinched the underside of his lanky arm, catching the layer of fat coating the barely existent muscle.

Alex shook his head. "You're the type who prefers video games and boring stuff, eh? Well, you looked to be that kind of guy anyway." Chance turned his heels, about to head back to the apartments, but Alex grabbed a hold of his arm before he could move a foot away.

"Uh uh, sir! C'mon Chance, help me find something that'll be suitable enough to be a skateboard! Pleeeease!" the Hunter whined, tugging the bumped covered arm of the Smoker. Chance coughed a bit, knowing already that to try and free himself would prove in vain.

The taller sighed, slightly glaring at Alex, who was trying to give him Bambi eyes. "If I do this for you, will you keep your mouth shut around me for the rest of the week?" Alex brought his other hand up to his face to cup his chin, making a pondering expression.

"Next two days."

"Five."

"Three."

Chance sighed in irritation, "Fine, three days. Twit." Alex formed a sharp toothed grin, hugging the Smoker a bit too tight for the taller's comfort.


	5. Chapter 5

G…C?

No.

…

G, C9…D?

Fuck.

Chance flexed his fingers, hoping it would help him play the old guitar. He strummed it again and could hear the sour note kick him in the ear. If only his MP3 player was charged up, he could just listen and know which note he was fucking up so badly. Or if Google was still around, a few seconds and bam! He'd be saved. He tried again.

"Oh my gosh! I know that song! Isn't it..." Alex began to wobble on his skateboard and soon toppled into the cement bowl. The board shot up out of the skate bowl and skidded past Chance before coming to a stop. The Smoker carefully placed his guitar into its case before standing up and retrieving the sorry excuse for a skateboard. Alex eventually climbed out and sat on the edge of the bowl.

"Dammit, Chance, that board is gonna crack on me sooner or later. You would think that _one_ person in the whole damn city would have a decent board. But _noooo!_ Either they took it with them or its broken beyond repair."

Chance held his tongue, about ready to tell the Hunter that they hadn't been through the whole city yet, but he just handed over the board, took his seat again by the guitar, picked it up, and strummed the strings. His mind began to wander while his fingers played, remember how they came across this board.

/)/)/)/)

_"CHANCE! Hurry up!" Alex screeched ahead of the Smoker. "I see a shop!"_

_Chance didn't move any faster. He was tired, hungry, bored, and all around not in the mood to do this scavenger hunt anymore. For the last three days, they had been scouring the entire city (or as far from home as Chance was willing to go) and he was tired of it. He had run out of cigarettes to smoke and his patience had all but dwindled to a very thin line on the verge of breaking. This store was the last one, and then the Hunter would have to survive without a damn skateboard._

_Alex snuck in through a broken window and went about looking for any form of life before pulling the Smoker inside with him. Down the aisles they walked and searched, but most of the boards were missing wheels, axels, and a few had cracks down them. Since the skater Infected knew little about the actual repair of these items, they gathered together what they could find and, using a roll of industrial duct tape, went about making a less-than-useable board._

/)/)/)/)

"A-HEM!"

Chance felt something hit his head and his grip on his guitar tightened. He turned back to Alex, who was starting at him.

"Quit your whining. That was the board we found for you, so be happy. Don't expect there to be gold in a coal mine."

Alex gave his taller companion a confused look. "I don't know what that means. All I was saying was that we should go exploring, and maybe get some food. A survivor or two..."

"This again? We agreed: three days of you leaving me alone. You still have one more day. So go play on your board." Chance went back to strumming on the string instrument in his hands, ending the conversation in his end.

Alex picked at his nails before replying, "Well yeah, but I don't want to skateboard _all_ the time. And I can't stand being quiet for days and days. I mean, you're the only Infected who won't eat or attack me if I come within a 10-foot radius."

Chance was about ready to reply with a witty retort when a noise caught their attention at the other end of the park. They sat up straighter, eyes sharp for anything out of the ordinary. From behind one of the quarter ramps popped out a chubby face, a few swollen tumors on its forehead and chin. Once it was sure the coast was clear, it stepped out to reveal an immensely obese Infected. Alex tilted his head to the right and Chance narrowed his eyes, his fingers curling. What was _that_ doing here?

After a few seconds, Alex's jaw dropped. The Boomer blinked a few times, squinting once or twice before speaking.

"Alex?"

"Sh-Sheperd?"

Chance flinched at Alex gave a girlish squeal of delight and leapt over the skate bowl onto the Boomer. They collapsed onto the concrete, hugging madly. The Smoker simply stared.

"OH MY FLIPPIN' LORD SHEPERD HOW'VE YOU BEEN! I MISSED YOU SO GODDAMN MUCH! YOU AND YOUR MUFFIN PUFFY SQUISHINESS!" Alex shrieked as he tightened his hug on his friend.

The Boomer released a tiny belch before loosening his friend's hold on his waist. "Alex, Alex! Easy on the gut! I've seen some other fatties like me burst from a simple poke."

Alex stood up, a silly grin still plastered on his face. He looked back at Chance, noticing the look of utter confusion on his friend's face. He helped Sheperd to his feet with a bit of difficulty before dragging the larger around the bowl to the Smoker.

"Sheperd, this is Chance. Chance, Sheperd."

The Boomer extended a hand to the sitting Smoker, who stared at it until it was slowly lowered. "Uh, nice to meet you," he tried instead.

"Diddo," was the response.

Alex saw the hurt look on his long-time friend's face and gave him a small pat on the back. He leaned over and whispered, "He's got a complex. Ignore the utter asshole attitude."

Sheperd laughed at the comment and smiled at the Hunter, his beady little eyes trailing up and down the drastically slimmer form. "You look so good, dude. The look suit you well."

"I would say the same for you, but..." They both laughed. "Oh my God, it's been so long, I almost forgot what you looked like." The Hunter gave a sharp-toothed smile. "So, where you holding out nowadays?"

Sheperd gave a small shrug of his huge shoulders. "I've been going from place to place, leaving whenever it became too dangerous or when my stomach was making the rumblies-" Alex raised a brow, "That only hands would satisfy." The two burst out laughing like a couple of teen girls at school. Chance slightly shook his head at the commotion, trying to focus his attention back on his guitar and terrible playing.

"But Alex," Sheperd said when he was able to caught his breath, "I've found this one corner of the city where a bunch of survivors are stashed. It's all secure and the whole nine yards: barbed-wire fence, rotation of guards, same old same old. Looks like the Juvi center. Anyway, a whole bunch of Specials are gonna try to get inside using Commons to breach the main gate. Once we're inside, it should be easy for the Hunters and Smokers to take down the guards. Boomers are gonna breech the inside and bring in more Commons. A few Witches and two Tanks are on the fence about it."

Alex gave a look mixed between excitement, confusion, and fear. "Sounds like a suicide mission."

"I know. But think about it this way: free food, a big place to just chill for a while, and hey, if you're into keeping kills, some easy counts. So, watcha say? Up for it?"

Alex looked back behind Chance, whose fingers were resting on the guitar strings. He looked like he was daydreaming. "I'll think about it. Thanks for the offer, Shep."

"No prob. Got a place to crash? There's a whole bunch of Specials crashing someplace safe and I'm chilling there til they kick me out or something."

Alex caught his tongue before he made a one-sided offer for Sheperd to spend the night at Chance's place. He knew the Smoker didn't like the idea of _one _other Infected under his roof, much less _two_. "I gotta stay with this idiot 'cause he can't stand to be alone, and I can almost bet you he won't wanna leave home." Alex placed one clawed hand on the scowling Smoker's shoulder.

Sheperd shrugged, "Suite yourself, but if you change your mind, the place I'm staying at is on W Gregan Rd. The Union Station, remember?" the Hunter replied with a quick nod and a salute from the Boomer. "Alright, man. See you till then, I have to head back or this other Hunter will steal my bed again."

Alex gave his friend one last hug, ruffling Sheperd's curly hair. "Call me, babe!" he shouted as the Boomer trudged away.

Chance found himself locked onto his companion's smile. It wasn't the first time Chance had seen Alex smile so big, but it was…different, something to look at. Chance forced himself up, dusting off his jeans. "Why didn't you go with him?" Chance asked, coughing twice against a blistered fist. Alex gave Chance a 'seriously?' look unseen to his eyes. A small snarl spread on Alex's lips, making Chance miss the much brighter (and friendlier) smile.

"I declined because I'm worried about _your_ safety, asshat. Sure, you said you saved your own hide twice or so before, but what if you mess with the wrong survivors? Who'll be there to back you up?"

Chance could only find himself glaring at the small Hunter, feeling slightly insulted by his words. The Smoker bent down to prop the acoustic back in its carrier, zipping it closed. "Thanks, but I'm sure I'll pick my hunts carefully so I don't _need_ your 'protection' to cover my ass." The Smoker swung the guitar case onto his back, heading back to the apartments. He took about five steps before something smacked him hard in the back of the head. He turned around and saw the stone. He glared at the Hunter, who flipped him the bird.

"I've gotta say, Chance, I'm met my share of assholes in my life, but you have _got to be_ the _biggest_ one of them all. So, congratulate yourself," Alex spat, clenching his fists.

Chance touched where the rock had connected and felt his palm grow damp. He brought his hand back and saw the black blood. He clenched his hand and sneered. "I never _said_ I'd be a total pushover like your fatass friend."

Chance felt himself fall over as Alex pounced on him and pinned his shoulders to the concrete. The Hunter's claws dug into his shoulder blade and he snarled in the older's face. Chance could feel the pressure on his lungs and gave a sharp cough.

"You shut the fuck up about Shep. Don't go talking shit about my friends like you're the damn poster child. I'll snap you in half like a twig, rip the top of your skull clean off, and watch the horde rip you limb from limb if you even _breath_ another word about Shep or any of my other friends."

Alex pressed down even further on Chance's stomach when they both heard a sharp _crack!_

Chance's eyes grew wide with fear. "Shit!" He shoved the Hunter off of him and quickly threw open the guitar case. His heart nearly stopped. Alan's guitar had an awful crack down the side and the neck was almost snapped clean. His body tense in anger and he turned around, shooting out his tongue with the hopes of grabbing Alex by the neck and snapping it just as clean as the acoustic's. "Bastard!"

Alex dodged the attack, slicing the appendage into two. He jumped to his feet and moved out of the way of a sharp uppercut. He was ready to leap out of the way when the severed tongue snapped around his waist in a tight squeeze. It lifted him up into the air and wrapped around a few more times until it hurt Alex to move or breath.

Chance gave a deathly glare at his captive. "You want to know something, you pathetic _prick_? I've lost a good friend when this shit decided to hit us across the fucking face. _Eaten_ _to_ _bits_ and _crushed_ _to_ _death_ before I could do **_anything_**. You wanna keep threatening to kill me on the spot just cuz I insulted _your_ Boomer buddy? Go right ahead!" He loosened his grip slightly so Alex could talk all he wanted. There came no response, so he slammed the hooded body down on the concrete with a shattering force just shy of breaking something. "What are you waiting for? Another invitation? If you're such a badass killer, _do it already!_ _Prove_ how hardcore you are and stand up for your friend. I've got _nothing_ to live for anymore. I'm a damn _freak_ just like the rest of all the _fucktards_ in this whole forgotten city! I'm surprised the military hasn't already nuked this place to _smithereens_!" The Smoker loosened his tongue and let the Hunter lay on his back.

Alex bit on his tongue to hide the pain and couldn't help but think what was so special about that guitar. Did it belong to this friend who died? Or is it just a reminder of how hard it can be to get good thing during an apocalypse?

"Chance, I d-"

"No! Shut the fuck up! I don't want your fucking apology! Get out of my sight! I don't want to see you in my damn apartment ever again!" The Smoker stomped over to the guitar, gingerly zipping its case and hooking it back over his shoulder. He began his trek back to his house.

Alex watched until he was sure anything he did wouldn't be met with retaliation. Slowly, he stood up, grabbed his makeshift skateboard, and pounced in the opposite direction, far from the skate park and the thick tension that still stood there.

* * *

><p><strong>DUN DUN DUUUUN. Looks like our two (lover?) boys aren't seeing eye to eye for now. :V<strong>

**Beta skills of fanstaticness goes to Inkin Veins c: :heart:**

**Review plz?**


	6. Chapter 6

Ugh, sorry for the long-waited update! A few reasons for the wait but I won't waste your time :)

Onwards with the story!

**Beta-ness of awesome goes to Inki Veins :3**

* * *

><p>"No. No! NOOO!"<p>

The survivor thrashed against his restraints, screaming at no one in particular to come to his rescue. He tried to claw at the slimy appendage, but his fingers didn't hold. He tried to twist and look at his captor, but all he saw was a cloud of green.

"Somebody he-" He chocked as the tip of the tongue wrapped around his neck and slowly constricted, cutting off his airway. He struggled even more as the death grip tightened. His vision blacked and a _snap _echoed in the darkness.

Chance dragged up his meal to himself, ignoring the voices in his head that knew he shouldn't have killed the survivor like this. They said he should've felt awful, like a killer, a monster even, but he didn't feel the slightest bit of pity for this man. The dead man took a wrong turn into the Smoker's hunting ground. He was a terrible shot, too cocky about his ability to live. In some ways, he _deserved _to die.

The Smoker placed his meal on the rooftop in front of him and tore the shirt open, buttons popping in every direction. He stabbed through the stomach and pried it open angrily. God, he needed this release of anger. After what happened the other day...Alex was a dumbass who couldn't keep _anything _nice. Just because Chance spoke his mind (albeit rather harshly now that he thought about it some), the Hunter had to go and pounce on him, snapping the musical keepsake into a disaster.

"Stupid mother fucker. If Alan were still here..." he muttered, ignoring the damage to the chest to grab at an arm. He pulled on the limb, but it didn't give in. He stood up, placed one shoe on the shoulder, and yanked back. He flew back and heard a sharp _crack!_ that jarred every nerve in his body.

"CHANCE! MY ACOUSTIC!"

He looked up and saw Alan before him, still alive and looking as if he never endured a fall down ten stories or so, claws and teeth deforming his body. The kid looked healthy, pure...and hurt as hell.

"Chance...how could you?" his friend asked, tears threatening to form in his eyes.

"Alan..." was all Chance could manage to say.

"Dude, you get pissed off, so you trash my acoustic? What the hell!"

"It wasn't my-"

"I don't give a damn what is isn't or wasn't. I trusted you...and this is how you treat my stuff..." Alan backed away slowly, fighting back his tears. "I mean, I know it's an apocalypse and all, and you're all Infected, but don't act like you never cared about me."

"I do care."

Alan shook his head, still backing up towards the edge of the building. Chance stood up as he heard a groan of wood, but he dared not to pry his eyes away from his friend. There was no way it could be true...Alan died. Alan fell, screaming, being torn to bits and devoured by the Commons...

"Alan...you aren't real."

"You son of a bitch!" Alan screamed, pulling out a gun from behind him. He aimed it rather shakily at the Smoker. "I am real! I _am_!" His foot touched the edge and he stopped.

Chance shook his head. He kind of wished Alan was real, that the _gun_ was real so it could end his misery. "I'm sorry, Alan. I'm sorry I left you to die. I'm sorry for the guitar. I'm sorry for everything."

Alan shook his head solemnly. "No...no you aren't, Chance." He took one step back and fell.

Chance didn't move until he heard something crash onto the dumpsters below. His heart stopped. He ran to the edge and looked over it. There was a body, but it wasn't a match to Alan's in the slightest. He shook his senses back to normal and let out a sigh.

A loud screech ran in the air and Chance turned around to see a pair of Hunters gnawing at his meal. Neither Special cared for the Smoker, but when he shot out his tongue to scare them away, they screamed and each grabbed a torn section of the body before bounding off.

The Hunters made him think of Alex, wondering if the knucklehead was doing all right, holding his own...still alive. He went back over to his meal and grabbed the arm the other Specials had forgotten to grab on their way off. He picked up the appendage and took a large bite, trying to force something into his stomach.

What did he care where Alex was, who he was with? So the kid chose that happy-go-lucky tub of lard over himself. Not like it wouldn't have happened: Chance had been pretty clear that the Hunter leave him alone and never come near him again. So why the hell did he miss that headache-inducing ball of fucking sunshine?

/)/)/)

Alex stood on the rooftop, watching as two survivors sprinted in his direction, Boomer bile sticking heavily to their clothing. The roar of the horde followed as a tidal wave of Commons took off for the food like a back of vultures.

The Hunter took a deep breath, making sure he could do what he had to. No mercy. Just feral instinct. He closed off his human mind and relied on his senses. He could hear their heart beats, see their heat signatures pounding for nowhere. One took a Molotov from around his waist and chucked it over his shoulder, the canister exploding into a raging fire of blue.

Sheperd and a Jockey named Trik stood beside him on the roof, their heat signatures a lime green, a high contrast to the orange and fiery reds rushing by. He crouched, an attack growl forming deep in his throat. He tightened every one of his muscles and took off, pouncing on one wall before ricocheting to the next. He moved faster, his actions predetermined by his feral mind. He got closer, hearing the familiar laugh of Trik as his companions kept up.

He grabbed onto a sturdy fire escape and screamed, launching at the back of the second survivor, a female. He dug his nails into the woman's shoulders and instead of pushing her onto her face, he reared back, rolling himself onto the ground and kicking the survivor into a wall for Trik and Shep to handle. He crouched on all fours as the man turned, gun aimed as the Bile's scent and thickness faded.

He rolled out of the way of one of the double-barrel shotgun blasts and leaped onto the Immune. The Immune threw a punch at the side of Alex's face and it actually hurt like a bitch. He shrieked in righteous anger and stabbed the man in his ribcage, tearing it open for better access. He shredded the lungs and cut open the stomach, the acid tickling his fingers. He killed the man, the innocent guy who was just thrown into an eat-or-be-eaten, kill-or-be-killed world.

He could faintly hear the Commons tearing apart the second Immune as they were attracted to the fresh amount of bile Shepard so generously provided. The Boomer and Jockey waited for the pain-filled screams to die off before shooing off the Commons, dragging their kill to where the Hunter was perched, still over the dead man's body.

"Nice job, Alex. These punks can sprint hella fast when you least expect it," Sheperd commented, helping the Hunter off the body so he could inspect it.

"You sure got some killer moves, Hoodie. Man, if I could move like you, I'd be-" Sheperd let out a short laugh, cutting off Trik's rambling.

"Trik, you're obviously not a Hunter, so save your fantasy kills for later, mkay?"

The twitchy creature raspberried as he and Alex carried one of the soon-to-be meals to a safe spot while Shep handled the other. They dragged the carcasses into what looked to be an abandoned office building and went to town, feasting on their catch. Trik noisily ripped the muscle and fat off the thigh he was devouring as Sheperd made sure there were no traces of meat left on the arm he had. Alex spun another arm by the finger, taking a small bite before dropping it back to the pile.

The Boomer gave his long-time friend a curious glance. "What's wrong, Al? You normally eat pounds and pounds of shit, at least, you did in your past life. Don't like human flesh?"

Alex shook his head, propping his chin on his blood-stained knees. "Nah, just feeling bleh..." he replied, turning his head so his temple was on one knee. Sheperd and Trik exchanged looks before the jittery one went back to his food, Sheperd dropped his bone before placing a bloody hand on Alex.

"C'mon man, I thought we were closer than that. Tell me what's eating ya."

Alex snerked at his Boomer buddy's comment, shaking his head as a response. "Nothing big, Shep. Just..." Alex placed his chin on his knees, a fleeting thought catching him. "Hey, you know of any music stores near by? Like Musician's Friend, or something?" Sheperd blinked in confusion, giving the question some though before replying, "Uhm, I think I saw a Guitar Center or something like that a few miles from her-HEY! Whoa! Slow down!"

The Hunter was effectively dragging the Boomer out the door. "Come on, man. You really gotta help me do this. I promise, I'll never ask for anything anymore. Just _move_!"

The two larger Specials vanished around the corner, leaving the Jockey alone with the food. Trik glanced at the leftovers before jumping from his seat and running out the door.

"Hey! You guys! WAIT FOR ME!"

/)/)/)

Chance was sprawled on the living room couch, remote in one hand as he tried to find _one_ channel that had something other than snow and the ever-annoying rainbow bars. He would've tried to play some video games, but the console had been trampled when everything had _first _gone to hell in a hand basket. He turned off the television and stared at the ceiling fan.

He heard a door open and looked up. He didn't see anything out of the normal until he realized that Alan's favorite pair of shoes were by the coat rack. They were the pair that Alan had worn when they had tried to run...

He rubbed his eyes groggily and looked up to find the door still ajar but the shoes missing.

"Damn, my conscious is coming back to haunt me."

He stood up and decided to talk a walk around town to try and clear his mind. Maybe he could find something interesting since the chatterbox Hunter wasn't around any longer. Sure, they mainly argued, but it was _something _to do other than wandering around mindlessly. Maybe the 7-Eleven still had some smokes or something. He _was _running low...

He passed Commons, both alive and dead, and felt a strange sense of dejavu. Why was he coming back _here_? This was the store where he watched the owner (was her name Nicole?) being devoured by a cannibal. He's avoided it for weeks, looking for nourishment elsewhere. The doors were ripped from their hinges and the usually neat stacks of newspapers and magazines had been scattered and torn by trampling feet. He heard a soft chiming and looked up, seeing the bell that was still so joyous to greet his arrival, even if the wind jarred it.

He went behind the counter, a Common asleep in the corner, a skeletal arm in his hands. He saw a few empty boxes, but not one cigarette.

"Dammit all," he scowled, moving down the aisles for anything to steal.

At about aisle 7, he heard a shot ring out near the cash register. He could almost picture the gaping hole in the Common's head...He dropped to the floor, holding his breath.

"Looks like a good place to crash," came one male voice.

"Rex, this place is a dump. The door's busted, no food, probably no running water," came another.

"But I bet there's a shitload of stuff in the back. That's where all the storage stuff is kept."

Chance almost cursed his luck. One survivor: no problem. Two: suicide mission. He could already see the Gates of Hell opening for him. _Maybe I can sneak out through the back..._He started slinking towards the far corner, staying in the shadows of the broken lights. He was just an arm's length away when Jeff said something.

"Is it just me, or is it hazier in here than outside?"

He stood up and turned the knob, opening as a gun blast went off and hit him square in the calf. A screech of pain pierced the air and took off into the back, hearing the sound of boots following for a moment.

"Rex, dude, you missed the Smoker. Just let it go."

"Jeff, first rule of survival: leave no enemy spies alive. For all when know, he could be going to get his friends to jump us." The shotgun was reloaded loudly. "Come on. Let's kill it and get back before dark."

/)/)/)

"Is _everything _ruined beyond disaster in an apocalypse?" Alex whined as he searched all he could through out the Guitar Center. Sheperd watched his Hunter friend pounce from wall to wall, frantically searching for something. "Al? What exactly are we looking for again?"

The Hunter gripped onto the ceiling lights, taking a closer look to the guitars high on display attached to the wall. He shook his head, releasing the lights to land on a tall and dusty amplifier before replying, "A guitar, duh. An acoustic one. Something not loud or plain, y'know?" The Boomer tilted his head to the side, watching Alex leap onto a taller stack of amplifiers to look at the other wall-displayed guitars.

"What for? You weren't a music artist last I checked," Sheperd stated, watching as Alex groaned in frustration and bounced off another wall, deeper into the store. "Just...help me find it, alright? If you help me, I'll owe you ten kills or something. Please, just, do this for me." He looked around. "TRIK!"

Trik chuckled childishly as he smacked the plastic keys on an electric keyboard nearby. While the noise was anything but pleasing, it kept the hyperactive creature entertained. He stopped at the sound of his name and scurried over to where his roommates were.

"What's up, man? Need help finding something? What are we looking for? Huh?"

Alex plucked one of the electric guitars off the wall near him, holding it out for Trik to see. "Something like this, but wooden. Maybe a bit bigger if you can find any." Trik nodded in response, scurrying deeper into the store in search for the wooden treasure.

"Okay, freeze," Sheperd said, hands folded. "Why the hell are we tearing this place apart for some acoustic? Does it have anything to do with that Smoker asshole you used to hang with?"

Alex didn't answer, still so engaged in his game of I Spy. He jumped onto the ground and was about ready to leap back up into the rafters when Shep stepped in front of him, a serious look on his face.

"What?"

"Does this whole thing have to do with the bastard Smoker who kicked you out?" Alex stared at his friend before giving a small nod. Sheperd nearly blew up at him. "Why the fuck are you doing _anything _for that prick? After he talked shit about me and then goes all postal on you."

Alex got this guilty look on his face. "There's...kinda something I didn't tell you earlier about what happened..." The Boomer got quiet. The Hunter took a deep breath before resuming. "I left out the part where I broke his guitar by accident. Not like it would've mattered to you anyway."

"Is that the reason he kicked you out? Just over a broken guitar?" Sheperd asked, a disbelieving look plastered on his face.

The Hunter leapt up onto the rafters again, continuing his search. "It's not _just _a guitar, Shep. It was something important to Chance. I...I think it belonged to a friend of his. A dead friend..."

Sheperd's eyes widen slightly as he let out a long "Oh."

Alex nodded, crawling back to the front of the store to make sure he didn't miss anything in his frantic first glance. "So, yeah. That's why I'm looking for an acoustic guitar. A simple 'sorry' isn't going to cut it for Chance, I'm pretty damn sure."

Trik scurried past the two, leaping into a pile of cardboard boxes with its contents scattered everywhere in hopes to finding what they needed.

Sheperd small smiled, helping Alex lift up an amplifier to get better access to a few closed guitar cases. "That's pretty kind of you, Al. But, why bother? Didn't you tell me he was a douche bag with a stick up his ass?"

Alex shook his head, clicking a guitar case open to see it was empty, "Nah, man. Chance has got a soft side to him. I just know it. He just...doesn't like to let it out."

/)/)/)

Chance was surprised he was still on his feet. His injured limb burned like a wildfire and his heart was threatening to explode into a million pieces. His side had split open, an old and poorly-tended-to wound dribbling black blood as a trail for the survivors to follow. He gave a rib-shaking cough and his legs gave out beneath him, the ground rushing up to meet him.

He could hear the shots getting closer and forced himself to keep moving, just for a little while longer. He wished that a Witch would slink by or a Tank would drop down from the sky and save him, just stall the Immunes long enough for him to find somewhere to pass out _safely_!

"I think I saw it go this way!"

Chance hated being weak like this. If Alex were here, the Hunter would've surely teased him for his insolence. What was wrong with him? He's usually so careful, so meticulous when he went out. He could feel the fog swimming over his head. He was about to go down. A Common stumbled into him and the snarling beast jumped at him. He pushed it away with the last bit of his strength. He saw something that looked like salvation: some dumpsters. If he could squeeze between them...

"Rex! REX! Come on, give it a break already! It's starting to get dark, and I do _not_ want to be out here when the real creepers show."

Chance made it to the dumpsters, falling into a heap on the grimy brick wall. He hoped the the mess of boxes above his head would provide enough shadow to hide him. He saw the Common he pushed away earlier fall to a crumpled heap from a gunshot.

"I don't give a shit how late it's getting. Those slimy, long-tongued bastards took our old man. I'm not gonna rest until every single one of them is dead, brains blown out of their fucking skull."

Chance could feel a cough rising in his lungs and pain shot from every scar. One in his arm was really starting to bug him, and when he went to move it to a manageable position, it tweaked and he just about summoned a horde.

"There you are, you sick bastard," the survivor spat, barrel of his gun level with Chance's good eye. The Smoker tried one last pitiful attempt at an attack, shooting out his tongue to wrap it weakly around the Immune's leg. Seconds before contact, a steel-toed boot crushed his appendage, making him whimper in pain. The boot pressed down even more and the sadistic grin sent shivers up and down his spine.

"Jeff, the stupid fucker wants to live that badly. It's pathetic."

"Rex, can't you see he's suffering enough? Let him die in peace."

Rex held the gun steady, his finger on the trigger. Chance couldn't bare to look, but he also couldn't turn away. Wasn't this what he wanted? To be free of his life? To finally see Alan again and apologize for all the crap he's done? His blood loss was making him woozy and he leaned heavily against the wall behind him. His vision and hearing were fading fast. The grip of Death wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

"I'd rather let him die in pieces."

There was a click and a shot rang through the city.

/)/)/)

"Aw man! It's starting to rain!" Trik complained, holding out his bloody hand to feel a couple droplets fall on his palm.

Alex started at the sky. He remembered something his mother used to say, about how the sky grieves for those who cannot grieve themselves. He always felt it was a bunch of bullshit, but something in his heart told him otherwise.

"It's just water, nothing lethal. Let's head back to the station," Sheperd instructed, receiving a quick nod from the smallest group member, who got a head start. The Boomer looked over his shoulder, seeing Alex slumped in disappointment. Shep smiled, patting the other's shoulder. "Don't worry Alex. We'll go looking for another guitar store first thing tomorrow. No need to look all sad."

Alex dropped down to a crawl, heading in the same direction Trik was moving, Sheperd following close behind. He didn't reply, feeling the droplets _pitter-patter _against his hood. As if the day couldn't get any worse.


	7. Chapter 7

Red cross-hairs dance over a distance Boomer's skin on the deserted road. For a few agonizing moments, nothing. Just silence and surveillance. The plump Infected passed a few cars and a couple of Commons before turning towards the scope, an almost indiscernible look on his face. There was a soft, comforting _pop _and the inhuman balloon exploded, causing the Commons to rush back with hope of a meal. Two more nicely lined up shots and they were down.

"Gotcha, fat bastard," the gunman whispered, moving the scope from his face.

"Damn," came from over his shoulder. The sniper glanced to see his companion with binoculars to his eyes. "You're getting really good at this shit."

"My old man gave me a few pointers before he left me and my sis. I'm just glad his useless rambling finally did some good." Empty shell casings were pocketed and new bullets loaded. The gunman sat and went to taking apart his weapon, making sure nothing would cause a hitch and backfire on him. "I hear that Omega scouts found some survivors on the East side, a bunch of girls." _I hope Carla's with them..._

The patrol sat beside his younger companion, shrugging his shoulder. "We'll see. They should be back soon enough." Both men went to looking around, savoring and scorning their new shelter, their home. Barbed wires curled along the upper section of the cement wall they were stationed upon. On the outside, in the "danger zone", Commons and Specials alike wandered, moving almost...methodically. A Hunter came up the the wall and scratched at it experimentally before bounding away from short range gun fire and the sniper fire that pelted the ground where he had stood moments before.

Three sections of the fort had arches cut from them, serving as entrances into the compound upon request and approval. Three guards stood at each station, picking off stragglers from the outside. A stray bullet nicked the air beside a Witch, who screamed and charged the gate. Her hand touched the metal high voltage door and she cried out in pain, body thrashing violently. After a loud thirty seconds, her cries faded and she fell, a singed corpse on the dirty ground. Her muscles continued to twitch involuntarily.

"OMEGA APPROACHING!" bellowed on the walkie talkie at the patrol's waist. The sniper stood, cocking his gun into working mode. He took his scope and looked for the vehicle. _Please, Carla...please..._

A 4x4 forest green military truck came in view, gun holders shooting at the Commons who raced after the vehicle. The sniper leveled his head with his scope, lining his designated shot to a Common that jumped on the passenger's door. He pulled the trigger, the Infected falling into a crumpled heap.

"ONE COMING IN!" he shouted over the edge of the tower down to the gate soldiers.

A patrol below unclipped the pipe bomb at their waist and chucked the beeping device through the opening gates, watching as Commons trampled over each other to reach the louder, flying device. The gates opened fully and the vehicle raced inside, the head of the previously murdered Witch popping under the tire. The bomb exploded in the distance.

The gate sealed and locked, medics escorting the survivors to the medical room inside of the building. The sniper scanned the soft faces, but none were of his sister. He sighed and sat down, rubbing is forehead to keep the tears at bay.

"Well that went clean and easy. Good thing there was no Tank," the patrol commented, making the sniper shudder. He flicked a bug off of the barrel of his gun. "Don't jinx it. I've been getting a bad feeling these last two weeks."

The patrol gave the sniper a questionable look, "What do you mean?"

"Just feels different. Like that Hunter a little while ago. He didn't try to attack. It was more like he was checking something. Like he was doing recon."

The patrol sneered. "You don't actually THINK those zombies could break in here, do you?"

The sniper slightly shrugged, taking the water bottle sitting by his feet to chug a mouthful of the warm liquid down his parched throat. "Can't say, it's just a feeling after all."

/)/)/)

Chance dragged his bloodied and battered body across a rooftop, wheezing and hacking. Everything felt like it was freezing cold and burning hot and every time he found one wound that was impossible to ignore, another four screamed in silent agony.

"Damn it all..." he cursed, finally propping himself against the side of the doorway. He clenched his fingers as the numbness swam in his veins. He gripped his shoulder, dark blood seeping between his bony fingers to make a small trail down his damaged frame. He coughed, saliva and blood mixing together on the ground beside him.

His panting was uneven as he tried to regain strength mentally and physically. How the hell _did _he get out of there alive? He should be _dead. _He could hardly remember, everything was too fuzzy and he could feel the Devil standing above him, sucking all the heat from his body.

He gritted his teeth and brought himself back up to his feet, groaning pitifully as everything hurt in the worst possible way. It doesn't matter, he guessed. He really needed to find some place to safely crash if he wanted to continue living. He limped poorly, trying to move towards the next rooftop.

The Smoker screeched when the glass below him gave out, making half of his leg fall into the old cracked sunroof he had blindly been walking upon. He swore like he never did before, feeling the glass sink into his decaying flesh as he twisted or kicked his leg to get free.

Using all the strength he still had in his lanky physique, Chance managed to pull his leg out of the cracking hole, rolling off of the old surface onto more stable ground. Blood pooled beneath him, leaving a large puddle. Glass shards stuck out of his skin, his muscles and veins pulsing around the intruding object. He snarled at his new injury, grasping the bleeding wound as he splayed out in the sun.

_God just kill me already._

"Chance?"

The Smoker's eyes shot open from the voice. He propped himself up onto his elbows, forcing himself not to scream in pain. The speaker, a Special, was perched on a nearby broken air conditioner. Not knowing what curse decided to slap him in the face today, he stared hard at the hooded figure he knew by a long shot.

Alex sat perched on the broken machinery, dried blood and some mud coating his body. It looked like the hoodie had something strapped on his back. From the way his vision was blurring, Chance could hardly make out what it was. It was shaped oddly, and the way it creased and held a mold-ish look made it appear to be cloth.

A cloth case? For what?

"Alex," Chance finally spoke, his voice sounding terrible to his own ears. The Smoker forced himself on his feet, holding in all pain that wanted to rip out of his mouth in agony. "The hell are you doing here?" he asked, quickly grasping his right side wound.

Alex flinched, a confused expression quickly replaced with an angered, worried one. "What am I doing here? I'm looking for _you_! What the hell happened-?" Alex jumped off the air conditioner, advancing towards his friend, but quickly stepped back when Chance lashed out at him.

"Back off, you son of a bitch! I told you to get-" His legs were giving out again, and the injured Special felt lightheaded.

Chance heard Alex call him name before he completely blacked out, feeling a pair of arms catch him before the ground had a chance.

/)/)/)

Voices swarmed around his head and a warm wave swept over Chance's body. He groaned at the sudden warmth and fading noises.

"I think the smoke bag is waking up. Quick, get me the pick."

Chance hissed as he forced his eyes to squint open, dim lights illuminating the room he was in.

"AH!" The Smoker yelped, feeling something cold and sharp poke its way to his side. He almost fell off the uncomfortable table he laid on and the cold was snatched away. He sat up too fast, gripping the side of the four-legged set for support. He quickly surveyed his surrounds, many unfamiliar Specials surrounding him.

"Who the fuck are you? Where-Hey! Get that thing away from me!" the Smoker screeched, pulling himself away from a Spitter who held an ice pick in one hand, advancing towards him. The long necked Infected squinted her eyes as she overlooked the Smoker, making the smoggy one more than uncomfortable at her expression.

"Seems to have enough life to scream...bring that Hooded one in. He'll probably help us hold him down." The Spitter directed the order at a Jockey twitching beside her. The hunched over maniac nodded quickly, leaping off of a bench to disappear in the crowd of Infected.

Chance took a worried look around himself again. Wherever he was, it was less than appealing. The place was dark with a poor set of lights installed on the ceiling. Baggage was scattered everywhere and Infected roamed about, as if it was their territory and everything was normal.

"Settle down boy. You got more than a couple nasty wounds that need healing," the Spitter spoke, her voice scratchy from the acid erosion.

Chance took a glance down at his body, his eye falling on his shirtless torso wrapped with dirty gauze. He turned his head to look at his shoulder but hissed at his actions, feeling the healing muscle tweak in an unpleasant way. "Did you...?" The Smoker began, holding one of his wounds tenderly, looking at his pant legs that hid the bandages wrapped around them.

The green-drooling woman nodded, "Name's Carla, the local medic. Even though I can't open a suitcase to save my life, I still have enough brain cells to perform basic medical care to an injured. Consider yourself blessed, pal, I don't normally do this for free." Chance narrowed his eyes, about to question her but a voice cut him off.

"CHANCE!" The Smoker was able to make out the flash of a dark hoodie before the spastic Hunter was practically squeezing his lungs out. Chance coughed, groaning at the pressure placed on his wounds under the death grip around his torso.

"Alex let-" the Hunter pulled himself away from the Smoker so the older could take in a shaky breath of oxygen. He looked up at the taller Infected, his irises drawn into sharp slits in anger. "You stupid fucktard! What the hell were you thinking?"

Carla cleared her acid-filled throat, causing both boys to turn to her.

"Thank you for joining us, Alex. I'd appreciate it if you could actually _help _us with the wounds, not make them any worse." The smaller tore his arms from their resting place around the injured teen's middle, making Chance grimace in pain.

"Yes ma'am, what do ya need?" Alex asked her politely, ignoring the disgusting spat she released to the side of her.

"Appears your friend has a nice sized bullet stuck in him. I need you to help hold him down while I dig it out."

The Smoker flinched at the Spitter's words, scooting father away from the two. The table threatened to topple under his weight, but it held. "Fuck no! Keep that bitch away from me!" he hollered, catching the attention of a few Specials as they passed by.

Carla raised her eyebrow, unimpressed. "Alright, fine. Let it sit in your body, poisoning your already sick and weak muscles. Your funeral." She turned to leave, motioning for the Jockey to follow.

"Wait!" Alex called out, stopping Carla. He looked at the Smoker, who was baring his yellow teeth at her. He softly gripped his arm and Chance's eyes met his. "Chance, listen to what she says. This'll be quick and painless, she promised me." Alex reassured sincerely.

The Smoker scowled, knowing well he'd rather not meet the clutches of death more than once in his lifetime. Soon enough he laid back down on the grimy table, hissing whenever he turned or stretched a healing wound.

"Hold his shoulder and arm, he won't find this appealing." Carla ordered. Alex firmly pressed against Chance's left shoulder while the Jockey from before secured the other. Just the sight of the ice pick being aligned with the bullet wound made Chance's stomach churn. He inwardly groaned, squeezing Alex's hand that reassuringly held his as the icy pick dug into his flesh.

/)/)/)

"You sure you want to move around? Carla said you shouldn't be walking so much right now..." Alex said in a worried tone, hands held out before him in an attempt to make Chance sit back down on an open bench.

The Smoker hissed at his aching wounds, clenching his fists as he brought himself to his feet, "I'll be fine. I've been sitting around on my ass too long to count anyway." His legs twitched as the muscle tweaked, making his balance falter.

Alex moved to catch the Smoker, who fell back onto a bench. The younger placed a hand on his hips and pointed an accusing claw. "See? That alone shows that you shouldn't be moving. Just sit for a while, mkay?" Chance scowled, hand prepared to push him off the old wooden surface and back to his feet. He rose with some struggle, falling into the younger boy's grasp, before his eyes finally scanned the building he was in.

"Where are we...?" He asked, realizing that since Carla was hovering over him with that damned climbing tool, he _still _hadn't found out where he was or how he got here.

Alex took a glance around them before sliding Chance's arm over his shoulder, knowing well his friend wasn't going to sit back down as long as he was conscious. "The Union Station. The one Sheperd mentioned, remember?" Alex began, leading the Smoker down a platform.

Chance continued to take in his surroundings, looking at the passing Specials and condemned-building appearance. He was surprised to see a few Tanks wandering around the concealed platform track area where a few broken trains sat.

"You were bleeding pretty bad, and we were no where close to your apartment. Plus, I highly doubted that I could've fix up your injuries even if we made it back to your place with a med-kit in hand." The two Infected climbed the stairs with a bit of difficulty before entering the waiting area where some Specials seated themselves on the plastic seats or against towers of luggage.

"If you hadn't told me otherwise, I'd think we're in an airport..." Chance mumbled, giving in to his wounds and sitting against a wall near a Starbucks. The smell of stale coffee beans somehow calmed his racing heart. Alex slid down next to him, barely missing being hit by a luggage cart carrying a small Boomer that a small Witch and Hunter were pushing.

"Yeah, train stations in big cities are more like airports in small town than the actual airports."

An uncomfortable silence grew between them, nothing else to really talk about. What could they say? _So...eat any Immunes lately? _No way.

Alex sat up straighter, slowly turning to eye his neighbor. "Chance...what _really _caused all those wounds? I know for a fact you're not some stupid shithead that thinks he can take on the world, but you've never been _that _injured when I was around. What gives?"

Chance's eyes never left the grimy floor, idly watching a pair of ants. He shrugged. "Dunno. Guess my head was someplace else." In a heartbeat, Alex's claws were tearing into the Smoker's shirt, pulling them practically nose to nose. A vicious snarl graced the youger's lips.

"Don't even start with pathetic lies Chance. I want a straight answer, and I want it _now_. You almost died while I was gone, you think that makes me feel any better?"

Chance stared at his pissed off friend for a short moment before his pride kicked in. He shoved the Hunter from his face. "What I'm saying is all that you need to know. It doesn't fucking matter if it's the truth or not. I'm still breathing," he replied coldly, breaking eye contact with the hoodie without a second thought.

Alex furrowed his brows together, raising his hands in a strangling gesture but decided against it. He rose up on his feet again, catching the Smoker's attention. "C'mon, unless you'd rather be surrounded by strangers. I'll let you spend your night at mine and Sheperd's spot." A hand was offered to the hazy Infected, even if an agitated expression was clear as day on the Hunter. The Smoker glared in return but accepted the help up as he tightly grasped the gray, smooth hand in his blistered green one.

The Hunter gripped the taller's hand securely, yanking the injured infected onto his feet and leading him to his claimed area. Chance held a frown as he was forcefully lead to wherever Alex was taking him, but part of him he kept questioning everything. Why did this Hunter care so damn much about him? Why did he flip shit when the Smoker regained conscious? It wasn't like they were long time friends or anything. If anything, Chance couldn't have been any more of an ass to Alex if he tried.

His glare faltered some, eyes glued to the back of the dark hoodie who continued to lead him throughout the station. But, even though he hated to admit it, he appreciated the concern the Hunter gave him. He could only count on one hand how many people cared for his meager and rage-filled existence, and half of them didn't really count.

He wanted to thank the Hunter for caring, but his pride wouldn't allow the millisecond of weakness it would take to utter those words. How gay it would look and sound to everyone else? He wasn't exactly a homophobe, but he sure as hell didn't want to appear as some fag.

The two reached the station's main lobby, a broken clock still standing in the middle of the area. A marble fountain sat near the entrance of the station, Infected children splashing in the little water left. "Alex!" echoed from one of the corners. A familiar-looking Boomer was rising from his seat on a bed of cardboard and scraps of clothing. He began to approach the Smoker and Hunter. "I thought you got lost or something," he said as the Hunter exchanged smiles with him. Sheperd made eye contact with Chance, the smile quickly receding.

Alex released his grip on Chance's hand, both of their hands still rushing with electricity. "Shep, I know this guy isn't the best of company, but is it okay if he spends the night with us? He'll be lucky to find even a bathroom stall to sleep in tonight," Alex pleaded.

Sheperd narrowed his eyes, glancing between the smoggy bastard and his hooded friend. Finally the Boomer gave a sigh, "Only for you Alex..." he mumbled, not entirely pleased. Alex grinned, giving his longtime friend a quick hug with a series of hushed 'thank you's.

"I'm gonna go find Trik. He promised me a lung after that one incident we had on our way back here," Alex noted, giving Chance's healing shoulder a soft pat before he sprinted out of sight.

Chance mentally scowled. Now he's got to put up with the tubby prick. The Smoker made his way to an open spot near the wall, sliding down slowly with a pained expression on his face. The Boomer eyed him suspiciously, taking a seat back down on his makeshift bed.

"So...how'd you end up like that?" Sheperd's question made Chance twitch, catching him off guard.

The taller looked up from his lap, lining his sight to the Boomer's. Chance shrugged, "Just messed around with the wrong survivors..." He was somewhat surprised he told the truth to a stranger. Sheperd just nodded, turning his view elsewhere.

An awkward pause set in, making Chance rub his wounds in attempts to place his mind elsewhere.

"You better change how you treat him," came out of nowhere from Sheperd, catching Chance off guard again.

"What?"

"Alex. He's sticking his neck out for you and you're not giving him the slightest bit of thanks. I have no idea why he keeps defending you. You sure don't look worth the time."

Chance glared at the large Infected, rage slowly building its way up again. "I never asked for-"

"Well, that's just the point! Whether or not you accept or like it, Alex's been putting up with your shit because he claims you as a friend. So, you should at least drop the prick attitude and return the favor."

Chance closed his mouth after Sheperd's shout, his eye narrowed to a slit as he gripped his side wound. It throbbed back in response. Sheperd scoffed at the silence, turning his head from the smoggy Infected in attempts to find something worthwhile to look at.

"I swear I had it, but that Hunter with the neon green duct tape just came up and snatched it away! I mean, c'mon, Hoodie! I don't exactly got the balls to go up against a Hunter!" The voice caught the two Special's attention. They looked up to see a jittery Jockey following behind Alex as they reentered the station's lobby.

"Yeah, yeah. I don't want to hear excuses, Trik. You owe me big time when we go out hunting again," Alex sneered, laughing a bit as Trik dangled from his arm in an attempt to use his Bambi eyes at the appropriate eye level.

"Hey! Who's he?" the Jockey asked, pointing a finger at Chance as they came to their corner.

Alex shook the hunchback Infected off before replying, "That's my friend Chance. He'll be staying the night here til further notice."

The Jockey made his way to the Smoker, inspecting the patched wounds visible on the Infected teen's body, crossing the line of personal space on the Smoker's part.

"Damn, smoggy dude, you really got a number on you! I don't recall seeing any Infected this banged up since-" Trik's ramble fell when he saw an arm motion from Shep, clearly meaning 'Knock it off'. The Jockey sighed, turning and spying the fountain. He took off, cackling madly as he jumped into the children's mock swimming pool.

Alex took a seat next to Chance, who stared at the Jockey's antics. "Don't mind Trik. He takes a while to get used to," Alex smiled, nudging Chance's side to get his attention.

The Smoker looked back at his arm, inspecting the dirty bandages wrapped around the pulsating tumors. "'Til further notice'?" he questioned. "I don't plan on staying here Al-" A tight grip on his sleeve cut him off. He met the younger's eyes.

"Chance, I know you prefer to stay at your apartment more than here. But, at least give it time for your wounds to heal up. Plus, that attack Shep mentioned on that juvi building is tomorrow. Don't you want some of the action?" Chance only blinked at Alex's words. He should have already known the answer. The Hunter frowned slightly, tightening his grip on the article of clothing. "Look, you owe me for saving your life. If not for me, you'd be dead and I'd never forgive you for dropping out of my life like that."

_I'd actually prefer it if you had let me to die. _Chance thought before Alex gave him a hard tug, almost causing the taller to fall forward.

"Look at me! I know for a fact you ain't letting go of what I did to you. Well, neither am I! Call it even on my side and show up at the attack and lend a hand. After that, you can go back to your apartment and be your anti-social self as you always are. If it'll convince you, I'll stay out of your life afterwards. You'll never have to see me again."

Chance's eye widened in surprise, not expecting such a definitive statement from the Hunter. He sure as hell didn't want to participate in a suicide mission where there was more than enough Infected for an attack, but he didn't want Alex to chew at his ass until the end of time. Sure, he owed Alex for bringing him in and saving his life. But that didn't mean he'd stop hating the hooded Infected. Alan's guitar was still broken, and because of him. Chance wasn't going to let that go so easily.

He sighed at the thought. Was it fair? A life compared to a keepsake? If not for Alex, none of this would've happened. Alan's guitar would be fine, but his days breathing would've stopped a long time ago. Part of him felt like he should've breathed his last breath on that rooftop, should've fallen through the glass hole and prayed that he neck snapped at the speed...

He couldn't find an answer.

"Fine..." was all Chance heard himself say, causing the grip on his sleeve to loosen some.

Alex smiled, pleased with the response. His eyes wandered to the cloth guitar case that sat next to a small pile of luggage Sheperd's bed sat near. Should he give it to him now? The Hunter looked back at his Smoker friend, seeing an unreadable expression in his eye.

Alex shifted into a more comfortable position against the wall, Trik having already taken his bed after his water entertainment. A weak feeling over came him, sleep pulling him under as he rested his head against Chance's arm. He shouldn't give it now. The taller Infected looked down at the hoodie with a strange expression. Darkness swallowed the Hunter comfortably.

Maybe later.

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><p><strong>Yay another chapter checked off! I'm getting really into this story now, hope you guys are enjoying the ride.<strong>

**Next chapter I plan to write will be long, so the wait will longer (sorry!). My poor Beta Lady will possibly die proof reading my works. XD**

**Betaness of awesome goes to Inki Veins. :heart:**

**Review?**


	8. Chapter 8

Well, there's been a year or two or more pause between these updates but this is here to reassure you that this story is BACK 'N RUNNING! I apologize but there's more reasons than one to why it took so damn long, so I'm not going to waste your time. A giant billboard size, glowing neon lights, dramatic orchestra choir of thanks goes to Acrylic Stain (previously known as Inki Veins) for finding the time to beta this chapter and story yet again because she's too awesome for words! 0u0

Now, without further adieu, ONWARD WITH THE STORY.

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><p>Even though the sun had barely broken over the horizon, morning had arrived. The broken windows of the Union Station let in sprinkles of sunlight, but it did very little to break through the darkness of the night. Infected slowly rose from their slumbers, stumbling over those who slept splayed along the ground. The scuffle of feet and the half-awake mutters of the rising individuals shattered the silence. Those who continued to sleep did so either with rumbling snores or gentle breathing.<p>

Chance furrowed his brow in his sleep, clenching his clammy hands. Sweat dotted his heated, sickly skin. He twisted his head to one side before throwing his eyes open, his body jump starting him awake. He took in a deep breath through his nose, the musty air of the station filling his lungs. Where was he? This wasn't his apartment….He took a slow glance around and the fountain came into view. The memory of the Jockey (was Trick his name?) splashing in its waters brought back everything of the day before. The rencounter with Alex, the "surgery", his chat with Sheperd, everything came back clear as day. He ran a hand over his face to wipe the sweat away, sinking back into his spot against the cracked wall.

_What a dream_..._haven't thought about her in forever_…

Chance tried to stretch, but a weight on his chest shifted. He looked down to find, to his surprise, Alex still curled against him, with one arm draped across him. It was like the Hunter was…cuddling with him, utilizing the taller male as a full body pillow. Chance felt something strange, something warm inside of him, and just as quickly, he wanted it to stop. What was he feeling? He didn't like the annoying leaper, he could barely stand him, and here he was, trying to be all cute and cuddly….dis-fucking-gusting. But, he didn't feel like being an asshole first thing in the morning. The Smoker looked around for something to replace as the Hunter's pillow.

A duffle bag was just a few feet away. He tried to slide his leg over to snag it with his toe, but just flexing his foot stressed every healing tendon along his leg. He cringed and withdrew his leg back to his body. He hissed internally. Alex groaned and Chance found himself tensing and holding his breath until the smaller body relaxed. The Smoker gave the situation a little thought and finally found a solution. Utilizing his tongue, he slid it over and tucked it beneath the Hunter gingerly. Alex groaned, nuzzling the replacement tight to his body as he continued to slumber.

The Smoker tried to avoid stepping on any fingers and toes as he made his way to the staircase, nearly locking a Witch's hand beneath his boot. Surprisingly the cement steps hadn't been destroyed or collapsed, and to his relief it led a way to the rooftop without any problems.

The morning chill found its way quickly to his senses, causing the smog Infected to shiver and wrap his arms around himself. Chance walked to the ledge, seeing the streets and buildings still in a chaotic mess with Commons and a few Specials scavenging about. People dying, monsters eating everything that moves…who would've thought this would be what the world would become… The Smoker thought to himself, gingerly gripping his arm wound that throbbed in annoyance. He lowered his head to the streets below, a rare look of worried distress set in the Smoker's unhealthy pupil. _Hope she's alright_…

"Beautiful view, isn't it?"

Chance's heart nearly jumped out of his chest, and he spun around, ready to attack. The voice has come from a Witch who had taken a step back. Her pale red hair hid most of her facial features while claws stained with blood hovered near her mouth. Chance lowered his guard some, stood more upright instead of posed for an attack. "You startled me…" he huffed.

She took a few timid steps forward until she reached the ledge next to him. "Forgive me…many say I'm better off keeping my mouth shut anyway."

Chance kept an eye on her, his usual anger inside simmering down some. That's how he always was around girls: they didn't keep the bitterness boiling beneath his skin. They mostly did the opposite, calming him down.

"You were Carla's latest patient, correct?" she inquired, her pale eyes searching his face for an answer. "It was the chatter of the station last night."

Chance gulped, narrowing his eyes and shifting his gaze elsewhere. That Spitter was one of the few women who he couldn't help but sneer at. "Why the hell was everyone 'chattering' about me?"

The Witch just shrugged, "Just curious. She usually has a high price for her treatments. It didn't look like you had much on you to begin with." Chance rested his arms on the ledge, supporting his weight on the cement while he avoided eye contact with the Witch. The way she stood by him was unnerving. Why did she have to be the type to keep a conversation going? "I guess your Hunter friend Alex sure has a way with his words," she chuckled softly, "He seems to be that type of guy…"

Chance glanced at her in slight annoyance, "You an old friend of his?"

The girl shook her head, her thin hair swaying like fire in the breeze. "No, but he helped my sister catch a Survivor one day. He's quite quick and agile. It's no wonder why the humans give creatures like him the title 'Hunter'." The Smoker rolled his eyes. Alex? An agile Hunter? Did this girl get Alex mistaken for some Hunter God? "My sister is actually mates with the leader of the Station. You might've seen him: a big, really scarred Tank, with a buzz cut. Luke. He can look terrifying but he's a real sweetheart underneath-"

"Ok, sorry," he snapped, cutting her off, "but I didn't really come here to talk. I came here to get some air and not listen to anybody babble worthless shit." The words felt bitter on his lips.

The red haired Witch remained silent, clearly taken aback slightly by the sudden outburst. She sighed to herself. "I'm sorry…Maybe I should listen to what the others say and staple my mouth shut…" Downhearted, she stood from the ledge to leave the Smoker alone. Chance quietly snarled, feeling stupid as the guilt wave rippled through him.

The Witch was just about to leave, a clawed hand on the edge of the door to shut behind her, when she turned back to the hazy Infected. "The attack on the humans is to be set today at dusk. Well, you probably already know that but…I wish you the best of luck. We're all going to need it."

With that the door closed softly behind her. Chance's scowl hardened as realization hit. Way to ruin his fucking morning.

/)/)/)

The main terminal of the Union Station was bustling with Infected of many kinds. Many chattered in what seemed like gibberish language as others squeezed or shoved others to get to their desired destination. Alex took a long look around, the entire sight so surreal. Take away the sickness, the death, the 'zombie' label, and this would look like a regular day in the train station. Well, except for the fact that no one was trying to get anywhere.

In the center of the terminal, standing on the massive pile of train cars and various rubble where the clock tower used to be, stood a massive Tank. The behemoth rested his feet and knuckles on the side of a train car. A few other Tanks stood at ground level surrounding the leader, keeping the minor Infected at bay for the rally.

Alex stood near his Boomer and Jockey companion, the amount of Infected congregating around the makeshift platform making it nearly impossible to not bump elbows with a stranger Infected. The Hunter turned his head constantly, trying to find a familiar smoky jerkoff in the crowd.

"God dammit! Move your ass, Bulimic Acid-Bag!" Trik spat, almost about ready to pounce the Spitter in front of him and move her himself. Sheperd grabbed the smaller creature and effortlessly lifted the hunched Infected up in the air onto his wide shoulders. "You're such a whiner," he sighed, smirking at Trik who eagerly observed the group at his new eye level.

The Hunter began to grow a bit worried, Chance not anywhere in sight. Maybe he was lost or caught himself with the wrong Infected? Alex thought, clenching the front of his shirt in concern. A hand clasped his shoulder out of nowhere and he nearly leapt onto the rafter. He turned to see a familiar, looking Smoker was a trademark cigarette lit and put to work in his mouth.

"Chance! Where have you been? I was looking-"

"Just decided to go explore. Got a problem with that?" Chance interrupted, taking a drag of his nicotine.

Alex sighed, shrugging before turning his attention back to the center of the rally. Chance eyed his Hunter companion, somewhat surprised that he didn't try to engage him in a pointless conversation or interrogation. He glanced up at the Tanks in the center. "Those buff bastards up there supposed to give us a spiel on this whole attack?" Chance asked, tapping his cancer stick to discard the useless ash at its end.

Alex turned his head slightly, "Pretty much. Just giving the factions the orders decided when they first agreed on this ambush."

Chance arched his eyebrow. "This was thoroughly planned out? Not some last minute after party idea?"

Alex snickered, corners of his mouth pulled upward to flash his yellow, blood stained teeth. "You always presume everyone's a dumbass, Chance. I guess that's something that's never gonna change, huh?"

Chance shrugged in response, close to finishing his cigarette with the pause held in their conversation.

The Smoker, for some reason, wanted Alex to fill him in on the whole who-does-what tactic but he deemed it pointless since the brute up front would most likely tell everyone what to do, where to go, and when to shit. Still, he wanted to hear the Hunter speak. It strangely calmed his nerves today.

"QUIET!" the deep, resonating voice of the Tanks shouted. In seconds, the zombies fell silent, all eyes pinned directly to the mutated gorillas killers. Chance raised an eyebrow, impressed by the beefy King Kong and his demand for respect.

"The time has come, my brother and sisters. Today, we shall strike back en masse against those who have shot us, stabbed us, ransacked our homes and infiltrated our territory. They will feel the true wrath we hold. They want a war, they will get a fucking war!"

The crowd erupted in a shout of agreement. "Immunes are the monsters, not us!" "We're the Infected? They corrupt everything they touch!" "Fuck them all. Fuck their shit! Let's kill them all!" "Let's blow them up! See how they like their bombs!" "Burn the sons of bitches!"

The large behemoth on the platform raised his hand and slowly, the clamor ceased. "Our plans have not changed. For those who have recently joined our forces, listen well, for I will only say this once." The grey-toned Tank ground his knuckles against the rusted metal. The damaged train groaned under the weight of the muscled monster as he turned to address all. "The survivors have taken refuge at the juvenile center and made it their outpost. Their defenses are strong, so charging in in lines would be suicide. Their walls are feet thick, but if you remember your positions, their barriers will be nothing but a bullet's graze to us."

Chance shifted his feet. Just what the heck did this guy have in mind? And how long did it take to think of this? His entire lonely zombie life?

"This brute has been repeating the same plan for days. He's actually a lot nicer than he makes himself out to be," Alex whispered next to Chance, the taller glancing down to the chatterbox.

"You befriend every goddamn Infected in this station?" Chance questioned, a waft of grey smoke escaping his lips with every word.

Alex just shrugged and smirked, "Dunno. I know I make a lot of more decent friends than assholes like you." The two fell silent when the Tank's voice boomed once again.

"Commons stay in the subway entrances and the tree lines until given the signal. Smokers, you will be stationed on the rooftops of the red tower and apartment buildings that neighbor the outpost. From there, you should have easy access to the guards protecting the top wall lines. You will endure retaliation fire, which will cue the Hunters and Jockeys. Leapers are to distract the enemy and suppress fire. Attacking the wall liners is optional, but don't spare your neck if it's not necessary or possible. The humans by then will be too focused on your groups, leaving an opening for the Infiltration troops."

The Tank turned his vision to a section where majority of Boomers, Spitters, and Witches were gathered, their attention never faltering at his words. "Destruction to the wall is our top priority, We Tanks will collapse the wall while you all assist and cover our asses. Acidic chucks and any bile contact with the humans are essential. The blind spot will provide enough time for the wall to collapse. All troops are to start moving forward once the breech has begun. Once inside, Commons will swarm and destroy. Everyone else, participate in the massacre. Now, are there any questions?"

A pause was given for anyone to speak up. Chance guessed, but the entire room was still silent. The Tank took in a deep breath and spoke in a very calm, serious tone. "You are fully aware death is completely possible…many of you will be caught in its grasp before you can process it. While their guns and fire may be strong, we as a horde are stronger. Believe me when I say your death will never be in vain. These humans discarded the fact we too were once like them and now they are our prey. They must perish for the ones they took from us. Their death is their ultimate retribution."

A few murmurs spread throughout the Infected. Chance stood a bit in awe among them. Did this guy really just spew such nonsense? Did he really think this attack would work? The Smoker shuddered as a playback ran through his mind. Those two boys chasing him savagely into that alleyway gave him chills, their guns and mouths screaming incomprehensibly rang in his ears. He shook it off. No. Humans were rotten and prey, but that didn't mean they were easy to kill.

The Alpha tank roared, "NOW LET'S MOVE!"

The zombies immediately shuffled out, some trampling over one another to get ahead. "Don't straggle behind, c'mon!" Chance's companion called out, grabbing the tumor covered wrist of his grey-hazed friend as he lead him through the swarm. Chance tried to keep up, but with so many Infected bastards shoving and pushing, it was damn near impossible to keep his footwork steady.

"Alex, wait! Would you-HOLD ON!" A sharp tug released the Smoker's limb from the Hunter's hold, causing the hooded Infected to stop in his tracks and turn to the Smoker in confusion.

"Dude, what's the hold up? We're going to attack, simple as that," The Hunter stated, rocking from side to side as numerous Specials and Commons made their way past the two in a hurry.

"I just, wait a moment…" The Smoker ran his bony fingers through his thin hair, his head swimming as aches and pressure mashed against the inside of his skull. Something clicked in the Smoker's head and everything became heavy. His breath hitched as he found himself squeezing his head, the headache making him squeeze his one good eye shut.

"_**W**hat is it—Sweety? Is that y**ou**_?"

"_I said **N**OT n**o**w_…"

"_W**HA**T D**O Y**O**U** **KN**OW_!?"

"CHANCE!"

The hazed Infected felt himself fall, but a pair of arms caught him. The Smoker could only force his lungs to greedily bring in air, unable to maintain a calm, steady pace. "Chance, hey! Are you ok?" The Hunter gave his friend a quick shake, worry washing over the Hunter as the Smoker slumped in his grasp. Chance used every ounce of his stubborn will to at least regain feeling in his feet. Slowly, he stood up again, his head feeling heavier and ready to pop like a balloon. The Hunter help straightened his friend, both hands grasping the sides of the Smoker's head as it hung low. "C'mon Chance, get it together."

The Smoker shook his head slowly, finding his way back to reality through painful brain waves. "God, what was…?" Chance mumbled, rubbing his bump covered forehead with an agitated expression.

The Hunter released his hold on his friend, a worried look still on his face. "Are you still not feeling well from your surgery? Carla DID said you shouldn't move too much until you're fully recovered."

A hiss was a reply to the Hunter, the Smoker shoving the other away. "That acid bitch can say whatever shit she wants. I already told you I…"

An image clicked through his mind, like a gun cocked out of safety. The lights were too contrasted to make it out clearly, but he could recall this picture a memory of sorts. A woman came into focus. She was sobbing at a table with her head in her hands. He couldn't make much of her appearance from the poor vision, but he was reminded of the sick twisted pain in his stomach every time he glanced at her. A twisted mix of anger and pity made him retch.

And retch he did. He couldn't recall what he last ate, but whatever it was found its way back up his throat. He coughed and gagged as the dull acid and half-digested crap splattered on the already dirty tiled floor. Alex took a few quick steps back, caught by surprise of his friend puking out of nowhere. "Holy shit! Chance!" He shot out a hand in front of the Hunter, the green Infected continuing to cough out anything else in his pitiful stomach. Chance shuddered as the last of his stomach's contents met the floor, his arm trembling as he continued to hold it in front of Alex.

He wiped his mouth with his other hand, slowly standing back up straight, albeit uneasily. "It's fine Alex. Quit freaking out," the Smoker hoarsely spoke, wiping a bit of dribble that left the corner of his mouth.

Alex nearly pounced the other in anger, "Quit freaking out!? Chance, you're having episodes! How the heck am I NOT supposed to freak out!?"

Chance glared at his hooded friend, "Well, screaming isn't making this any better," the Hunter snarled at the taller in response.

The commotion that was still going on around the two picked at the Smoker's already aching head. As Chance held his forehead tenderly and breathed slowly, Alex softened his face some. "Chance, just sit in the station and wait 'til we come back. You're only going to put yourself in more danger if you come to the attack."

The Smoker raised a tired eyebrow at his companion, "Weren't you the one to say I need to help with this stupid attack or you'd chew my ass off until the end of days?"

Alex shook his head, "Screw what I said, alright!? You're not feeling well and I don't want you to pass out while a survivor aims his gun at you!" The Hunter stepped forward, stepping in the Smoker's vomit but he paid it no mind. He gripped his friend's shoulders, one hand being cautious of the damage the Smoker incurred the day before. "Chance, I almost lost you once. I don't want to pull that risk unless you know you can hold your own 100%," Alex spoke, low enough for only the two of them to hear. Chance stared hard at the other, refusing to show any emotion.

The passing Commons and Infected around them suddenly seemed to die down around them, the breaths of the two Specials could only be heard by the Smoker's ears. Whether it was because the crowd was finally dying down or he was too focused to care, he couldn't tell. Through the subtle pain his brain was racking in his head, the Smoker put his full attention on the Hunter. All the same questions and confusion swept into his brain once again. Why did Alex care so damn much about him? Despite everything they've been through together, every cruel word and action the Smoker has given the Hunter, he was still right here. Beside him, talking to him, comforting him, making sure he was alive. But, why?

Chance would have contemplated these questions for hours, days even, but the release of his shoulder's from Alex's grip snapped him back to reality. "I'm fine, Alex. If I get sniped or whatever, I've got myself to blame," the Smoker stated.

"But-"

"If something happens, I'll call you. Or something. Look, it'll be okay. Get your act together. You being distracted will only get yourself killed faster at the attack."

The Hunter wanted to say more, to speak his reasons but his mouth clamped shut. I'd be less distracted knowing you'll be safe at the station…

"Anything, ANYTHING happens you'll call, right?" The Hunter confirmed, slowly talking a few steps back to join the receding pack. The Smoker nodded, the two exchanged a paused silence before the hooded one bolted off out of the area. Chance stared longingly at where his friend disappeared to. An urge to track him down, chase him just to be in sight of the Hunter again, gnawed at his chest, but his feet remained where they were.

The distraction his friend gave him from the inducing headache was gone, and the pain slowly crept behind the Smoker's eyes again. Chance snarled, rubbing his good eye as the tumors pulsating on his other slightly calmed the tension. He looked around him, seeing he was practically alone in the station's boarding zone with a few stragglers making their ways to the exit.

_Might as well get with the program._

/)/)/)

Sgt. Marcus Rudolf couldn't stop his trigger finger from twitching, but the air around the complex was thick with silence. It had been unnaturally quiet as of late, a situation many of the patrols were taking advantage of. He could hear the cheers of a card game he had been invited to a tower away, but he couldn't just relax. The sun bit at his skin, forcing his pores to pant and generally making him more uncomfortable. He finally pulled his eye from the scope of his gun and grabbed at a warm bottle by his feet. The drink of water made his stomach churn, but he forced it to stay down. He shuffled into a more comfortable position and went back to his perch, the swirling in his stomach not quite subsiding.

The sun was just beginning to dip over the peaks of the surrounding buildings. Shrouded figures began to emerge from the rooftops, groups of six on each roof. The wind blew in their favor, forcing the smog back towards the city rather than out into the clearing. Those who had to cough did so discretely, as to not create noise pollution. The head of the firing squad acknowledged to each rooftop to prepare to attack on his command. He noticed the only soldier that would be of any concern, a man who was scanning the ground in a repetitive manner. He was the only immediate threat, so the Smoker reared back and spat, his tongue flying like a bullet towards his target.

The slick appendage snared its target around the throat, squeezing just enough to prevent screaming for help. With a sharp yank, the soldier went over the wall, flying about 25 meters before coming head first into an oak tree. The crack of the tree snapping boomed over the silence, causing less-than-prepared troopers to jump in surprise. The Immunes scrambled to get to their weapons, but more Infected snipers began picking off targets. Some of the quicker Immunes retaliated, pelleting their adversaries with bullets. Bodies on both sides began dropping to the ground. The lead Smoker went around the building to where the "airborne" troops were waiting below and signaled them to move forward.

The cackles from the Jockeys broke through the air as they and the Hunters scattered across the field in droves, bounding from tree to tree and zig-zagging across the ground and over corpses. One of the Hunters picked his target, a female on a walkie-talkie, unarmed and unaware of his intentions. "We need back up on the East, South and West towers! Infected are in the area! We need immediate backup, air and ground troops! I repeat, we n-" The remote went flying from her hand as 145 pounds of Infected flesh collided with her, sending her flying back onto the floor of the tower. The Hunter drove his claws into the fat on her chest, squeezing two massive handfuls before ripping them away in a shower of blood and skin. He shoved one hand down into her stomach, the acid stinging his fingers. He flexed his digits and felt the sack of fluid burst within her chest cavity. The way she screamed then, such a high pitch as she began melting from the inside, made him grin.

A claxon emitted from the building, followed by a flood of gun totters. The bullets rattled against the dirt as the foot soldiers tried to push back the invading forces. The gates opened to let the troops swarm out onto the field, but all it did was allow more of the Hunter and Jockeys inside, increase the amount of friendly fire amongst Immunes. Two Jockeys latched onto an individual harboring an SMG, the top one doing the steering while the bottom ensured the rapid fire would apply as much rapid fire as possible. With the chaos at the gates, the Final Wave moved forward.

The lead Tank bellowed out a "CHAAAAARGE!" that brought the Immune forces to a standstill for a second. The Tanks ran forward with the Chargers on their heels. Boomers and Spitters moved forward as quickly as they could, with the Witches screaming their battle cry as they charged the crowds, fingers splayed out to slice as they ran. A few of the Tanks went for nearby vehicles and trees, chucking them into the front wall. Others went for the direct approach, pounding the solid concrete with their fists as hot metal projectiles peppered their skin. Chargers ran full force into the walls, clearing paths through the Immune lines.

"KEEP THESE FUCKERS BACK!" Immune leaders were screaming from within the ranks, the gates letting in more and more of the Infected spawn. "TELL THE MEN TO CLOSE THOSE GODDAMN GATES! PIECES OF SHIT ARE GETTING IN!"

One of the Tanks noticed the clearing near a gate and saw it as an opportunity. He galloped towards the slowly lowering metal gate, knocking men and women left and right. He went to slide under the heavy barrier when it came down hard, forcing him to lift his hands up and brace himself.

He wasn't sure what felt worse: the spikes of the door digging into his palms, or the jolts of electricity making his muscles spasm in pain.

Some of the diseases warriors noticed their comrade at the door and sprang into action, calling together brothers and sisters to stop his pain. A few inside the walls heard the cries and began searching for a power source. One Spitter and Jockey noticed a roaring machine and called over a Witch and Hunter to identify. The Hunter pointed out the wires leading along the wall and they determined it wasn't the best idea to keep it running. The Spitter hocked on the machine, hearing the sizzle of something weakening. The Jockey crawled into the space between it and the wall and the sound of tearing and spitting could be heard.

The beast slowed to a purr, and one glance at their gorilla-esque companion showed that the gate was proving less of a challenge, but was still a challenge. The Witch screeched and slashed her talons through the body of the beast, gritting her teeth as her fingers scraped against gears. The mechanism tried with all its might to continue churning, but it soon gave a final spat and sizzled as it died.

The Tank felt the power surge wane as he planted his feet and threw his weight forward, bringing the gate with him and crumbling the arch. He threw the broken metal at the scrambling crowd inside of the complex, crushing twenty or so individuals who didn't scatter quite fast enough. He threw his bloody fists into the ground and roared with all his might.

The other Tanks attacking the complex roared with their leader. The Witches screeched in unison, followed by the cackles of the Jockeys and the screams of the Hunters. The Spitters hissed and the Boomers gurgled, the Smokers spat and the Chargers growled. But, above the call of the Special Infected, the Commons cried out, charging madly past their more mutated brothers, sisters, and cousins to get at the now defenseless Immunes. The screams of pain as limbs began flying filled the air. The once mutually-covered ground was splashed with a fresh coat of red. The people ran from the sick back into the building or towards the emergency exits, but it was already begun.

The Infection they had tried to long to contain was free and virulent. And it was looking to feed.

/)/)/)

Since Chance had become infected a few months ago, he couldn't quite recall when he had lost most of his human morality. Especially so the portion pertaining to cannibalism. When did the thought of consuming what he once was become so mechanical? It had become so easy to tear into heated flesh with broken nails and chipped teeth. To lap the iron rivers with the tip of his tongue. To gnaw on striated muscles and chewy fat until the euphoria wore off and he had to look elsewhere for another, warmer meal. It was a twisted mixture of thrill of the hunt and gluttonous joy.

Today, he felt no joy or thrill. He only felt sick.

These stranger "cousins" of his, the Commons and Special Infected who whooped and hollered as they tortured and ultimately slaughtered their catch, made him feel like an outcast. He was not a target, but he didn't feel like an attacker at the moment either. The once black and red ground was now painted in a fresh iron coat, turning the green ground red. His shoes began to stick in the heat as the blood congealed. He walked towards the large concrete structure in hopes of finding a break in this horror show.

Outside may as well have been The City of Angels compared to what lay inside.

The walls, floors, even the ceilings were painted haphazardly in splotches of red. Bits of entrails and cooking flesh accented this fresh "paint". Screams bounded off the walls like sonar, bombarding Chance's fragile ears. Some frantic footsteps drew his attention as a small group of Immunes quickly fell in number to the ranging horde behind them. The final two nearly made it when a Charger rounded an adjacent corner and charged, snaring one in his mighty battering ram of an arm. The second screamed for her friend before a wet noose snared her right around the throat.

The cries of help and mercy made his stomach sick. Chance clawed at his abdomen weakly, his one good eye burning as he held it open, digesting the gore before him. He felt his feet move, pulling his body forward as if he were on a string. The slow, slightly uneven shambling grew into a limp run, moving him as fast as his could. His recent injuries screamed in protest as he powered on. He needed to find someone. He didn't care who exactly. Alex, Alan, the chubby prick Sheperd, just someone he could call familiar. Someone who could take this grotesque imagery away so he could stop feeling twisted inside.

In his haste for familiarity, he missed a precariously outstretched arm from a partially mangled corpse. Chance pitched forward, his head spinning as the world around his swirled, until his frame slammed onto the ground. He groaned, arms clutching his sides as he mentally tried to block off all the pain signals his body was firing. He heaved, a stray strand of saliva escaping the corner of his mouth as he raised his head.

A woman screamed as she rounded a corner, but a Huntress lunged and sank her teeth into the survivor's shoulder. The Smoker tried to block out the woman's final screams as he struggled to raise his torso from the floor. His legs refused to listen to him, but he grabbed a nearby sturdy bar and hoisted himself to his feet.

In that first moment, he realized where he was. It was a cell block, akin to those found in penitentiaries. He could hear the crying of children as adults shushed them from behind the bars. He stared at a gathering within his handhold. The child had tears streaming down his face as a woman clutched him to her chest. The second woman glared at the Smoker, as if blaming him for the tragedy that had befallen their home. Further down laid more open and locked cages and the Infected trying in vain to reach the people within. One cell had a flickering light. The shadow told the story of death as a face bobbed repeatedly, tearing away something with a wet sound. It looked as if it belonged in a slasher film, accentuated with lightening and thunder.

Then came a scream. A sound that someone registered with more urgency than the others. This scream made his blood stop. Every muscle saved for his heart froze.

His body snapped as his legs gave him a running start. He raced as fast as he could down the line of cells to find the source of that one scream. He missed the cell that held his target, but a second scream pumped his breaks. His hand snagged one of the many iron bars of a cell's open door and he ran back. He slowed to a walk as he rounded the corner to his target.

A woman laid upon the grimy cement, her head twisted at the neck. She looked to have been in mid scream before the Infested upon her had snapped it. Her spine was visible near her shoulders where the Infected was still gnawing. The Common finally raised its head midchew and snarled, bits of flesh spraying. "Mine" was the sole word from this creature's mouth, and normally, Chance would have listened…. But something struck the Smoker. The look on the dead woman's face as her eyes stared into nothing, frozen by death, made his stomach churn uneasy.

His mind clicked: voices jumbled and images flashed incomprehensibly in the back of his mind. This time, only a single voice muttered incomprehensibly before his remaining humanity translated.

"_**Ho**n-…Ch…n**ce**, let **me f**ini..s_"

"_Ev**ery**th-**FINE**. Ju_**_s_t f**ine…"

"I…**ve y**ou, s**o** m**uc**h."

The threatening barks and snarls from the interrupted Common fell deaf on the Smoker's ears. Chance stared in fear at the dead woman as cold realization fell heavy on him. His mouth went dry. His mind had to be playing tricks on him… the dead woman's face was mouthing words to him. Her half eaten hand reached out to him.

He screamed.

/)/)/)

Sasha Ernest braced herself with clenched teeth as the flying Infected screamed and collided with her, its dirty nails digging into the exposed flesh of her shoulder. Her Riot Police helmet bounced off the concrete and back to her skull, causing her vision to blacken and spot temporarily. She blinked as the pain blossomed from her shoulder, this beast placing most of his weight on her ribs as he tried to get past the sand in her improvised Kevlar vest. She twisted her wrist and wiggled her fingers to get at the knife attached to her hip, but he lifted a knee and slammed it down hard on her elbow. She yelped in surprise and pain, her body going stiff as his face came close to her mask, a massive bloody smile plastered before her.

The look in his eyes conveyed joy, excitement, happiness. Sick fucker, she thought. She could feel him scratching her stomach, his clawing becoming fevered as the concussion from earlier began to sink in. She was dizzy, lightheaded, nauseous, and a sick warmth covered her stomach and chest. The darkness engulfed her as her eyes registered him pulling free her intestines with a crooked grin. Please, she prayed quietly, please kill me proper. _Don't let me become like you_.

Alex rose from the woman's body, his hunger pleased for now. He took a second to watch his brother and sisters dance the bloody ballet with the last few Immunes. He gnawed at a bit of flesh adhered to the underside of one nail and crawled his way to the next floor. The number of prey was becoming scares, which meant that the race for kills was on. As he bounced and raced across the floor, he nearly collided with a teenage Immune and its tiny, naked "rider". The Jockey waved as he cackled and Alex waved back, shouting a quick "Have fun, Trik!" before the two turned a corner and vanished with a hoot.

The next hallway was dark and quiet, with metal rafters. The perfect hunting ground. He took to a particularly shady corner and waited for someone to move. Two girls sprinted from a nearby room for the emergency exit down the hall. He screeched and ran for them, bounding off one wall to catch the slower of the two in the back. She tried to scream as she fell, her face crashing nose first into floor. They skidded a few feet and he was sure she was dead, given the blood trail. Her friend turned at the door and screamed "Natalie! Oh My God, NATALIE!"

She stood there, staring at Alex as he flipped her friend over to get to the treasures hidden within. His claws ripped into her chest and sliced her lungs into deflated, shredded sacs of tissue. The Hunter tore out whatever innards his mouth could reach as he buried his face into her open torso. Alex chewed quickly, swallowing the raw meat with a satisfying gulp. He left the carcass for whatever Infected was interested in leftovers and began searching for his next kill.

Alex doubled back towards the main complex and decided to venture a different path. He soon found himself in cell blocks, many of them locked from the inside. A few Commons were still standing by some doors, taunting the creatures within. He could hear chaos from other floors in the complex, but for the most part, this floor was silent. Still, he crawled down the halls, one foot after another, sniffing out a possible target. The stench of blood was strong and he had to work past it. He stared at the faces of the corpses, a weird sensation glossing over his heart. Just heartburn, he thought with a burp. His stomach was starting to get full.

A noise caught him. It somehow stood out against all of the huff, gurgles, and cries of mercy. What was it? A survivor? It came again. It sounded pained, but distorted. More like words he could understand. An Infected in trouble, maybe? It came a third time and he felt a cold shiver race down his spine. He began moving down the cell blocks, ears primed for the noise. He came to a door, where the constant sound of metal on concrete rang in his ears. An angry noise was the precursor to each clank of metal to concrete. He peered around the corner and held his breath at the sight.

There laid a dead Common, its neck twisted in a horrible way and its skull smashed in. Dark blood oozed out of its damaged head, its lifeless eyes staring up at Alex, giving him a slight chill. The Hunter's attention quickly turned to the other Infected that stood in this cell as another cry and clank punctured the air. A Smoker, covered in blood and other viscera, swung a bent metal bar at a dead woman's skull. Her face became increasingly distorted with every whack. Alex cringed at every hit the taller Infected gave the body as blood and flesh became a messy slop on the cold floor.

"STOP! JUST FUCKING STOP! STOP BREATHING YOU BITCH! DAMN YOU!" Chance screamed as his arms continued to bring the metal bar down and strike the face he once called familiar.

"Chance! Stop it!" Alex yelled, lunging forward and locking his hands around the taller's arms, stopping him from taking another strike. Chance's body twitched and shook, trying to fight against the sudden restrain.

"LET GO OF ME! LET GO OF ME!" he screamed, but every call for freedom seemed to only make the restraint tighten. Eventually, his body began to relax, his hands losing their grip as the metal bar fell to the floor. It clanked a few times as it bounced against the floor, rolling to the cell's door where it was originally from, surrounding the two in silence as the massacre near and afar continued.

Chance's hitched breaths made his body tremble. The Hunter slowly released his friend's arms from above, letting them come to rest just below Chance's stomach. He took a step back, watching the Smoker tremble as stifled cries started to escape his mouth. A long, loud wail from Chance made Alex jump, the green Infected falling to his hands and knees as he sobbed. The dark blood escaping the woman seeped into his jeans and stained his hands, but he didn't care. He continued to cry as his fingers curled into his palms, head hanging low as every emotion he had been holding in for months was finally released.

Alex stood there dumbfounded, confused at Chance's actions and sudden mood change. Why was he crying over the body of a woman whose brains he had bashed out mere moments ago? Why was he so angry to begin with? The Hunter crouched behind the Smoker, a hesitant hand came in contact with the taller's back as he continued to shake and shudder. Slowly, Alex found the courage to wrap his arms around Chance's back. The Hunter's soft grip caused Chance to rear back and rest his weight on Alex. The hazy Infected found the embrace moderately comforting, something he needed, something he hadn't experienced in a long time.

Time passed by the two Infected as the bloodbath continued around them. The cries and screams of both undead and living faded out slowly. The presence of a friend remained the only important thing to Chance as his mind was slowly shrouded in stillness.


End file.
